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FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 





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i 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. A Meeting op Captains 1 

\ 

I 

II. Lost 27 

III. A Question to Decide 49 

IV. Battery Errors 85 

V. Locker-Room Gossip 113 

VI. Burning his Bridges 149 

VII. The Turning of the Tide 181 

VIII. On Even Termf 223 

IX. Two Score-Boards 252 

X. Terry Steps Aside 


278 


\ 


LIST OF ILLUSTEATIONS 


FACIKO 

PAGB 

“I — I’m going to fight,” Van said Frontispiece 

He had been caught off his guard. The boy on third slid home 108 

There was a whirlwind of cheering 224 

“Fellows,” he said in a shaky voice, “I — I — ” 290 




I 


FIGHTING for FAIRVIEW 


CHAPTER I 

A MEETING OF CAPTAINS 

T he Great World War had brought many 
changes to Fairview, just as it had 
brought changes to other places far re- 
moved from the far-flung battle lines of Europe. 
The old frame high school was gone. In its place 
stood a long, low building of white brick. 

Twice that day Buddy Jones, captain of the nine, 
had gone through the building, from the laboratory 
on the top floor to the gymnasium and dressing- 
room in the basement. To-night he stood across 
the road and surveyed it once more with proud 
eyes. 

Quick steps came along the sidewalk. Buddy 
glanced over his shoulder. ‘That you, Schuyler?’' 


I 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


“Yep.” Schuyler Arch, star pitcher of the nine, 
halted beside the captain. “Looking her over by 
moonlight ?” 

Buddy nodded. 

Schuyler chuckled. “She’s sure worth watching. 
We’ll have about three times as many students as 
we had last year. How many fellows do you think 
will turn out for the nine?” 

Buddy shook his head. “Fifty, maybe.” 

“That’s more than used to turn out in three years. 
Did you look at the lockers to-day?” 

“Twice.” 

“Bully, aren’t they?” 

“Great.” 

Schuyler drew a deep breath. “Who ever thought 
little Fairview would have lockers and showers, and 
fifty candidates turning out for the nine?” 

Certainly Buddy had never thought it. Eighteen 
months ago, when the Fairview Iron Works had re- 
ceived a war order, the matter had seemed only of 
passing moment. But more orders came, and soon 
the railroad built a branch line from Irontown. 
Other shops sprang up like magic, and mechanics 
came to work in the shops. Two-family houses, 
rows of houses, were hastily built in the side streets. 


2 


A MEETING OF CAPTAINS 


The grammar schools were swamped with a rush 
of new boys. Almost overnight Fairview ceased to 
be a village and became a town. 

The Board of Education had solved the need of 
more schools by moving the old high school to a 
new site and making it a grammar school. That 
had happened the moment the spring term ended in 
June. At once the work of building a new high 
school had been started. And now it was finished. 

Buddy’s eyes sparkled. Last year he had cap- 
tained a nine that had called itself lucky in the 
possession of three substitutes. This year there 
would probably be a complete second team, and a 
man in the faculty who would coach The cap- 

tain turned suddenly to his companion. 

‘‘Ever hear of ‘Mystery’ Ferris, Schuyler?” 

“Of Yale? The pitcher who beat Princeton and 
Harvard with shutouts? I guess yes.” 

“Ever hear of the Mr. Ferris who’s coming here 
from Jersey City to teach Latin?” 

Schuyler jumped. “My eye, you don’t mean ” 

Buddy nodded. 

“You’re fooling me,” cried the pitcher. 

But Buddy’s eyes were very, very serious. Schuy- 
ler gave a long, amazed whistle. “ ‘Mystery’ Ferris 
3 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


coming to Fairview. Well, what do you know 

Will he coach us, Buddy?’" 

‘T think so.” 

'‘Why do you think so?” 

“Because he helped coach both the eleven and the 
nine when he was at Dickinson High School in Jer- 
sey City. Doesn’t that look good for us ?” 

It looked better than good; it was glorious. 
Schuyler went home thinking how fine it would be 
to take pitching lessons from the man who had been 
the greatest college hurler of his day. And Buddy 
went home thrilling to the thought of who would 
help the nine in its next fight for a pennant. He 
found his brother Bob sitting on the porch. 

“How’s the school?” Bob asked. “Anybody steal 
it while you were away?” 

Buddy laughed. He was used to this good-na- 
tured chaffing. “Schuyler and I were talking about 
how changed things will be,” he said. 

“Oh!” Bob’s voice lost its banter. “How?” 

“Every way. Take athletics. Instead of only a 
few candidates there’ll be dozens of fellows out for 
the teams. Look at the difference that will make.” 

The boy’s voice rang with eager confidence. Bob 
settled back slowly in his chair. 

4 


A MEETING OF CAPTAINS 


^‘You’re counting on a big year, aren’t you, Bud?” 

“The biggest Fairview has ever had.” 

“How many have graduated, Yost and McCar- 
ter?” 

“The whole nine except Schuyler and me.” 

“That means you’ll have to pick a new man for 
practically every position.” Bob was silent a mo- 
ment. “Expect any trouble?” 

“In getting a nine?” Buddy demanded. “With 
all those candidates to pick from ? I guess not.” 

“They’ll be strangers to you,” said Bob. “You 
never saw them play before.” 

“Mr. Ferris will know,” the boy answered confi- 
dently. 

“Suppose they don’t fit into Fairview — I mean 
at first? They’ll come from widely scattered 
schools, and they’ll bring different ideas and differ- 
ent customs. You know the trouble you had with 
Schuyler when he first came here.” 

Yes; Buddy knew. But Schuyler had come 
around — that was the main thing. He put out a 
hand and rubbed his brother’s head. 

“Fairview’s clean,” he said. “That will mold 
them.” 

“Maybe you’re right,” said Bob. He was quiet 

5 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


until Buddy went into the house; then he sighed. 
‘'Good luck, kid,” he murmured. “You’re up 
against a tough game and you don’t know it.” 

There were only three days left before the open- 
ing of school, but it seemed to Buddy as though 
those three days would never pass. He had tried 
to keep track of the new boys, but they had poured 
into town too fast. Oh, well, three more days and 
they’d all — that is, all the big fellows — ^be under 
the same roof. Then the new life would start. 

The afternoon before school was to open, he went 
to the village field with his catcher’s mitt. A scrub 
game was already on and the sides were full, so 
there was nothing for him to do but wait until he 
could take the place of some player who had 
had enough. He sat on the grass with his knees 
humped up and watched the game. 

There was a strange boy on the side in the field, 
a tall, rangy, supple-muscled lad at third base. 
Twice in that inning vicious grounders came his 
way. He stopped them, held them, and threw out 
his man. 

“That fellow can play ball,” said Buddy, and 
sat up straighter. 

The side in the field came to bat. Schuyler, on 

6 


A MEETING OF CAPTAINS 

his way out to take up the pitching burden, halted 
beside Buddy. 

"‘Watching him?'’ he asked excitedly. 

Buddy made a shrewd guess. ""Who, the third- 
baseman?” 

Schuyler nodded. ""Isn’t he a bird ? I heard him 
say he’s coming to high school.” 

Buddy sprang erect. No time for lounging on 
the grass now. If this fellow could hit nearly as 
good as he could field 

It was an inning later, though, before the third- 
baseman came to bat. Lightly, gracefully, well-bal- 
anced on his feet, he waited at the plate. Schuyler’s 
first pitch did not tempt him. 

""Strike !” ruled the boy who was umpiring. 

The batter smiled. 

""Looked pretty wide,” Buddy muttered. 

Schuyler pitched again. Suddenly all the boy’s 
muscles seemed to gather themselves. The bat 
swung out. 

Away through the outfield sang the ball, to fall 
safely between two running fielders. Buddy, after 
one appraising glance, did not waste time watching 
the hit. He watched the runner. 

The boy seemed to skim over the ground. There 

7 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


was something of the trained runner in his work. 
Almost before Buddy could believe it he was at third, 
where a babbling coacher held him to safety. 

The shouting died away. Buddy found that his 
heart was beating wildly. He was impatient for 
the inning to end. When the third boy was out, he 
walked to the foul-line and waited for the pitcher. 

‘‘What did that fellow hit, Schuyler, a straight 
ball? One right in the groove?’* 

Schuyler grinned. ‘T guess not. That was my 
best.** 

“Your fadeaway?** Buddy’s voice was incredu- 
lous. Why, no schoolboy batter had ever been able 
to do much with that ball. 

“My fadeaway,** said Schuyler. “Isn’t he a 
bird?” 

Buddy walked back to where he had left his mitt. 
A boy quit the game, and a voice called to him and 
asked him if he wanted to play. He shook his 
head. If Fairview was going to get fellows like 
that, what a school she’d be. What a school ! 

Presently, as he stood there dreaming, somebody 
dropped down on the grass near him. It was the 
third-baseman. Their eyes met, and the pther boy 
smiled. 


8 


A MEETING OF CAPTAINS 


Buddy spoke impulsively. ‘T’m captain of the 
high school nine — Jones. That was a corking hit. 
Pm going to feel sick if you don't come out next 
spring." 

^*‘If I don't come out," the boy laughed, ‘*it will 
be because I am sick. I think they're calling me." 
He scrambled to his feet. 

'*Soak it again," Buddy urged. 

‘‘Going to try to," came the answer cheerfully. 

“I’ll be rooting for you," Buddy promised. An 
inspiration came to him. “And I won’t even know 
who I'm rooting for." 

The strategy brought a grin to the other boy’s 
face. “Terry,” he said; “Terry McCarthy," and 
went out to the plate and shot a clean single to cen- 
ter field. 

“Oh, for about six more players like that," 
Buddy breathed. 

That night, at .the supper table, he told Bob a 
glowing tale. His brother glanced at him side- 
ways. 

“He isn't any better than you, is he. Bud ?" 

“Mackerel !" said Buddy ; “I never could hit like 
that.” He went out to the porch whistling, and 
waited until Schuyler appeared. They walked up 
9 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


and down the lawn talking excitedly about the open- 
ing of school on the morrow, and of the possibili- 
ties of the new Fairview — and of Terry. 

Another boy came down the dark street and 
paused at the gate. He was Jimmy Powers, cap- 
tain of the high school eleven since Carlson had 
graduated. 

*Tm scared,^' he announced briefly; ‘^scared stiff.” 

Buddy looked at him in surprise. *'Of what?” 

‘‘Of to-morrow. Football practice will start al- 
most as soon as we get settled, and it’s going to be 
different. Last year I knew weeks ahead just about 
what I could count on to make a team. Now Fll 
have to handle fellows I never saw play, and^ ” 

“You’ll have Mr. Ferris helping,” Buddy inter- 
rupted. 

“f know ; but we don’t know how things will go 
this year. Fellows from here, there and every- 
where, and maybe they won’t fit together. That’s 
what gets my goat.” 

It came to Buddy that Bob had said something 
like that. He thrust the thought aside, and told 
eagerly of what a friendly chap Terry McCarthy 
was for all his great ability. 

“A star, eh?” Powers asked. 

lO 


A MEETING OF CAPTAINS 


“Yon bet he is,” said Buddy. 

The football captain shook his head. “That’s 
it. We’ll get some fellows who were star players 
at other high schools and they’ll want to do as they 
please.” 

There was a moment of silence. This was a new 
idea — a mighty uncomfortable idea, too. 

“Will they?” Schuyler asked softly. “Well, 
they’ll soon get over that.” 

Buddy went to bed that night troubled and un- 
easy. But in the morning his anxiety was gone as 
though the night’s sleep had washed it away. He 
was prepared to find to-day different from any 
other opening school day he had ever known, but 
in just what ways it would be different he could not 
even guess. 

On the occasion of other school openings there 
had been a deal of pushing, and clamoring, and 
good-natured shouting. To-day, when he reached 
the school grounds, he found very little sky-larking. 
The old Fairview boys seemed a bit awed by the 
presence of so many other students. 

“They’ll get over that,” thought Buddy. He 
waved to Schuyler, and started for the imposing 
stone steps that led to the wide entrance. 


II 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


The stairs were crowded. Over his shoulder he 
saw Terry McCarthy. The boy gave him a quick 
nod of recognition. 

Inside the building all was confusion. The new 
students entered Dr. Minor's office at one door to 
receive their class assignments, and came out an- 
other door carrying little cards marked with their 
periods. They were all more or less absorbed, and 
most of them disdained help and roamed through 
the corridors consulting the numbers on doors. 

Old Fairview boys stood in little knots and 
watched the strange students file past. There was 
very little talk. 

“My eye!” said Schuyler; “what's all the ex- 
citement about?” 

Buddy had known that to-day would be different, 
and yet he had not expected anything like this. 
Without knowing just why, he was vaguely disap- 
pointed. 

Terry McCarthy came out of the principal's of- 
fice. His eyes, wide and friendly, swept the scat- 
tered groups. 

“Anybody know where Room 14 is hidden?” he 
asked. Somehow the corridor changed, as though 
a bit more of the morning sunshine had entered. 


12 


A MEETING OF CAPTAINS 


‘That^s my room for the first period, ’’ Buddy said 
eagerly. *'Come along.'' 

'‘And mine," said Schuyler, falling into step. 

"And mine," said another voice. 

Four or five students escorted Terry to Room 14. 
The little sign on the door said : "Professor Dele- 
van, English Literature." Terry sat on the 
edge of a desk and spread his long legs across the 
aisle. 

"Safe in port," he said cheerily. "I know you, 
Jones, and I know Schuyler Arch. Somebody in- 
troduce me to the rest of the gang." 

Buddy performed the ceremony. This duty over, 
the boys stepped back. Terry, completely at ease, 
smiled at them. 

"Question number one," he said. "I’m ready. 
Fire away. What do you want to know about me?" 

Somebody laughed. And somebody else asked: 
"Where are you from?" 

"Jersey City," said Terry; "Dickinson High.” 

"Wasn’t that Mr. Ferris’s school?" Schuyler 
asked quickly. 

"Right-o!" 

"Did you play under him?" 

"Two years — football and baseball." 

13 


FIGHTING FOR FAlUVIEW 


Buddy asked the next question, and asked it 
eagerly: ‘"How is he?’' 

‘‘He’s the best little coach in the world,” said 
Terry. The easy-going light was gone from his 
eyes, and in his voice was a world of respect and 
affection. 

The assembly bell rang then. As Buddy went out 
with his class, his eyes met Schuyler’s. Wouldn’t 
it be great to have a coach who could make players 
feel like that? 

Assembly that morning was short. There was 
a constant shuffling of feet until Dr. Minor arose to 
speak. Then the noise stopped abruptly. 

“Let me,” said the principal, “welcome all new 
students to Fairview. No doubt some of our ways 
of doing things may seem to you strange and queer. 
But you will soon find that Fairview stands 
staunchly for all that is cleanest and best in work 
and in play. We have a school song that you will 
learn to sing by and by. Two lines run : 

‘No stain shall darken any page 
Of Fairview’s splendid story.* 

“On questions of right dealing boys who want to 
play fair can never disagree. And that is why, 

14 


A MEETING OF CAPTAINS 


regardless of what traditions and customs you may 
bring with you from other schools, you will soon 
be glad to call Fairview yours, and Fairview will 
be glad to call you hers/' 

‘‘My eye," Schuyler whispered as the classes filed 
out; “that was some talk, wasn't it?" 

Buddy nodded. 

“Makes you glad you're a Fairview fellow to 
hear things like that," Schuyler went on. 

Buddy was wondering how it would make the 
new boys feel. It came to him again that Bob had 
warned him that the new boys might not fit into 
Fairview. Why, if that happened, sports and school 
spirit and everything might go to smash for quite 
a while. His eyes were puckered as he entered Mr. 
Delevan's room ; and the pucker was still there when 
the period ended. 

“What do you think of the school?" he asked 
abruptly of Terry when they were out in the cor- 
ridor. 

“Help!" cried Terry. “Give me a chance, will 
you ?" 

“But " Buddy bit his lips. Of course Terry 

was right; how could a fellow tell in so short a 
time? And yet he was disappointed because Fair- 

15 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


view had not made an instant appeal to the boy 
from Jersey City. 

His last period that day was with Mr. Ferris. 
Since morning he had been looking forward to this 
hour. He was a bit late getting to the room, and 
the teacher and Terry McCarthy were chatting like 
old friends. He went to his seat quietly. Just 
after the class was called to order Mr. Ferris asked : 
‘‘Will Jones please stand?’' 

Buddy stood up. 

“Do you mind waiting in, Jones, when the others 
go?" 

Buddy said that he did not mind in the least. 
His voice was suddenly husky. 

The other students smiled knowingly. The new 
coach was consulting with the school captains the 
first day. Fairview wasn’t going to waste any time 
this year. 

All during the hour. Buddy’s heart had spells 
when it fluttered foolishly. He liked Mr. Ferris — 
the way he carried himself, the straight-ahead look 
from his eyes. A conference with this man held 
glorious possibilities. 

Three o’clock came at last. The class was dis- 
missed. Buddy and the teacher were alone. 

i6 


A MEETING OF CAPTAINS 


'‘Jones/* said Mr. Ferris/* how are you fixed for 
a coach?** 

Buddy*s eyes opened wide. 

"Because/* the man went on, "if you think I might 
be of any help ** 

"Why,** the boy burst out, "that*s what we*ve 
been thinking ever since we heard of you.** 

A fleeting smile touched Mr. Ferris*s lips. 
"Thank you, Jones. Oh, just a moment. What 
do the boys call you? Any nickname?** 

"Buddy, sir.** 

The coach laid a pad on the desk. "Well, 
Buddy, let*s get down to business. How many play- 
ers are left from last year?** 

The boy*s heart glowed. Buddy! No wonder 
Terry McCarthy said he was the best ever. 

"Only two left,** he answered. "Schuyler Arch 
and me. Schuyler was our star pitcher.** 

"That means we pick a new team, doesn*t it ?** 
"Yes, sir. But there’s one fellow here who’s a 
wonder. You know him from Jersey City — Terry 
McCarthy.** 

"A good player,** said Mr. Ferris. He made a 
mark on the pad. "What’s your position. Buddy ?’* 
"Pm a catcher.** 


17 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


!” Mr. Ferris gazed at a blackboard thought- 
fully. ‘That’s Terry’s position, too,” he said, and 
turned his eyes quickly toward the boy. 

“I’ll bet he’s a good one,” Buddy said without 
hesitation. 

The same fleeting smile touched the coach’s lips. 
“Jones,” he said, “you and I are going to get along 
famously.” 

Buddy thrilled in every nerve. On the way home 
his head was in the clouds. At supper he told Bob 
all about the interview. 

“How does that affect you?” Bob asked. 

Buddy was puzzled. “What?” 

“This other catcher ?” 

“It’s great,” the captain answered at once. “It’s 
mighty shaky business going through the season 
on one catcher.” 

Bob nodded, and his eyes grew soft. “I daresay 
you and Mr. Ferris will get along famously,” he 
said. 

Next morning Buddy hoped to see some of the 
old happy-go-lucky Fairview spirit in evidence. For 
one thing the second day usually saw the start of 
football practice, and players in uniform always 
had a tonic effect. When he came in sight of the 

i8 


A MEETING OF CAPTAINS 


grounds a football sailed up into the air end over 
end. Ah! That was something like it! 

But only a handful of boys were handling the 
pig-skin. Jimmy Powers caught a punt, stuck the 
ball under his arm, and walked toward him. 

‘T can’t get this thing started,” he said in a wor- 
ried voice. “No interest at all.” 

“Have you talked football?” Buddy asked. 

“Until I’m hoarse. You might just as well tell 
it to a wooden Indian. You ask a fellow, and he 
says sure, he’ll be out in a day or two. Plow long 
do they think the football season lasts?” 

Buddy looked about the grounds. The new boys 
were far livelier than yesterday — and yet, somehow, 
they didn’t seem to mix. They seemed to keep by 
themselves in little earnest groups. 

Buddy wrinkled his forehead. This football de- 
pression was certainly bad. Something was in the 
wind. 

“I spoke to Mr. Ferris,” Jimmy said next. 

“Oh!” Buddy roused himself. “Great, isn’t 
he?” 

“Y — yes,” Jimmy answered. “Well, that’s how 
I feel,” he went on defensively as he met Buddy’s 
eyes. “He told me to let it alone for a few days. 

19 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


That's nice, isn't it? At Irontown and the other 
schools they're practicing now. Every day counts." 

Buddy knew that. Yet his faith in Mr. Ferris 
was strong. Maybe the coach saw something clear- 
ly that they did not see at all. Maybe there was a 
reason. 

‘'Mr. Ferris knows what he’s doing," Buddy said 
confidently. 

‘T — I suppose he does," Jimmy admitted reluc- 
tantly. “But it’s mighty queer.” 

He had refrained from posting the usual notice 
calling on football candidates to report. At noon 
the bulletin board in the main corridor blossomed 
with other signs: 

A meeting of all students interested in tennis will be 
held this afternoon at 3 o’clock in Room 12. 

Fellows who want to start a track team will meet at 3 
o’clock in Room 15. 

Basket ball players are asked to meet after classes in 
Room 6. 

And not a single word about football. 

“Isn't that the limit?" Jimmy demanded. “Ten- 
nis comes next summer and they're talking about 
it already, and I can’t open my mouth about some- 
thing we ought to be doing now.” 


20 


A MEETING OF CAPTAINS 


Buddy was badly puzzled as he walked home. If 
Mr. Ferris said it was all right why it must be all 
right. And yet 

He was eating his dinner when the truth came 
to him. He saw it all in a flash. Tennis and bas- 
ket ball players, and track and field boys, had come 
to a school that had never listed these sports. Nat- 
urally, they wanted to have tennis, basket ball and 
track established. They were bound to cause un- 
rest until they settled things to their satisfaction. 
Evidently Mr. Ferris did not want to start football 
practice until he could have the whole-hearted sen- 
timent of the school at his back. 

'Tretty foxy,’' Buddy said in admiration. After 
classes he met the football captain. 

'Tt’s all right,” Jimmy said cheerfully. ”Mr. 
Ferris explained that he wanted the school to settle 
its agitation for other sports before he started foot- 
ball.” 

Buddy smiled wisely. 

He did not go near any of the meetings. That 
night a strange boy came to his house. 

*Tm A1 Davis,” he said. ‘They elected me cap- 
tain of the tennis team to-day. We want to 
have a meeting of all team captains and get some 


21 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


rules fixed. Is to-morrow all right for you?^* 

Buddy said it was. He wanted to talk over this 
unexpected summons ; but A1 Davis announced that 
he had to find Jimmy Powers and went hurriedly 
down the road. 

Buddy, somehow, had a feeling that a big game 
had started, and that he was being lost in its mazes. 
Bob laughed. 

‘Tt’s a different Fairview now. Bud. You said 
yourself there would be changes.’* 

“I know,” Buddy admitted; ‘'but Oh, well, 

I suppose it’s all right.” 

Next day the bulletin board carried this an- 
nouncement : 

Captains of all teams will meet this afternoon to for- 
mulate rules for the future conduct of athletics. These 
rules will be submitted to the Fairview Athletic Asso- 
ciation for adoption. 

And under it was this : 

Candidates for the football team will report for prac- 
tice at 3:30 o’clock to-morrow at the village field. 

Powers, Capt. 

Ferris, Coach. 

That last sign made Buddy feel better. Some- 
how, it robbed that other notice of its vague threat. 


22 


A MEETING OF CAPTAINS 


At noon, he found Jimmy Powers waiting for him. 

‘T think I have that meeting figured out,*' Jimmy 
announced. ‘‘You and I are the old-timers here, 
and they want to ask us about things. I suppose 
they plan a few changes — stuff they had at the big 
schools.” 

Buddy, after a moment, nodded his head slowly. 
Jimmy's reasoning seemed sound. The more he 
thought of it, the more he became convinced that 
Jimmy was on the right track. Why, of course 
these new captains would want older Fairview boys 
to set them right. 

He was greatly relieved. He did not think about 
the meeting again until that afternoon when the 3 
o'clock bell rang. His last period had been with 
Mr. Delevan. When it was over he remained be- 
hind to ask a question. The teacher kept him for 
ten minutes, and when he reached the meeting- 
room, the others were all there. 

A1 Davis greeted him with a wave of his hand. 
“Waiting for you, Jonesie. This is Hurst, the new 
track captain, and this Marcy, head of the basket- 
ball bunch.” 

Buddy shook hands. He wondered just how 
much information the three new captains would 

23 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


want. He took a seat next to Jimmy Powers. 

“Let’s get down to business,” Davis said briskly. 
“There will be five sports now, and we can’t have 
fellows coming out for everything in sight and for- 
getting their books. If that starts, athletics will 
soon be frowned on by the faculty. Let’s set a 
limit. How about saying a fellow can’t come out 
for more than one sport to a season? If he plays 
football, that will bar him from basketball.” 

“They’re not played in fhe same season,” said 
Jimmy. 

“I’m classing cold-weather sports as against 
warm-weather sports,’^ said Davis patiently. “If a 
fellow plays a cold-weather sport, he’s through un- 
til a warm-weather sport comes. If he plays base- 
ball, he can’t try for tennis or track.” 

“Suppose,” said Jimmy, “a fellow’s a good ten- 
nis player and a good ball player, too?” 

“And suppose,” said Davis, “the tennis team has 
a match the same day the nine has a game? I 
guess that settles you. Any objections to my plan? 
No? Then we’ll call it carried. Now how about 
fellows getting their school letter?” 

“Everybody gets an F who plays in a scheduled 
game,” said Marcy. “I inquired about that.” 

24 


A MEETING OF CAPTAINS 


‘^Dead wrong/' said Davis. ‘The A. A. ought 
to vote the letter only to fellows who deserve them 
because of good playing. Right?” 

“Right,” said Hurst. “Then the letter will mean 
something.” 

A moment later Davis announced that this propo- 
sition was carried, too. 

Buddy was bewildered. He and Jimmy weren’t 
being asked anything. Apparently the new cap- 
tains had decided to enforce at Fairview the cus- 
toms of the schools from which they had come, and 
had arranged all the details of the present confer- 
ence in advance. Probably everything they advo- 
cated was all right. But — but — There was that 
“but.” 

Buddy threw off these thoughts. Davis was say- 
ing something about a watch fob at the end of a 
season for captains who had distinguished them- 
selves. 

“It isn’t the value,” he said. “You can get 
those fobs for about two dollars. It’s the honor of 
getting one for work well done. Lots of schools 
have that custom. How does it look to you, 
fellows ?” 

It seemed to look all right to Hurst and Marcy. 

25 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


They voted for it at once ; and as they, with Davis, 
formed a majority, that settled it. The meeting 
broke up. 

Buddy looked at Jimmy. Jimmy’s mouth was 
hanging open. Davis came down to them. 

‘T knew all this would be satisfactory to you 
chaps,” he said. 'T told Hurst we’d get through 
the whole meeting in five minutes. We’ll make 
things jump now with five sports. This will put us 
on the map. A big school has to have more than 
just football and baseball.” 

Buddy admitted to himself that this was so. 

*T’m going to the upper end of town,” Davis 
went on. “Anybody coming my way?” 

Nobody was, it seemed, so Davis went out alone. 
Marcy and Hurst had already departed. Buddy 
rose slowly from his seat and walked toward the 
door. Jimmy followed. 

When they came outdoors Fairview’s three new 
captains had disappeared. Jimmy gave a sickly 
grin. 

“Nice meeting, wasn’t it?” 

Buddy tried to smile. But his smile was just as 
dismal as Jimmy’s grin. 


CHAPTER II 


LOST 



,HREE days later the Athletic Association 


assembled and passed the rules advocated 


by the captains. By this time Buddy had 
recovered from the shock of the meeting. After 
all, the changes would probably be good for the 
school. He decided to forget the high-handed way 
Davis and the others had acted. At the A. A. 
gathering he spoke in favor of the resolution. 

‘'WhaPs the matter, Buddy?” a voice chuckled. 
‘‘Going to need a watch fob?” 

“Pm going to earn one,” said Buddy, and the 
remark raised a cheer. In fact, the meeting be- 
came quite noisy. It was the first sign of spirit that 
had yet been shown. 

Meanwhile, football practice had started. Buddy 
hurried from the meeting to the field. 

There everything seemed to be at sixes and 
sevens. About seventy boys had turned out, and 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


the field was over-run. Jimmy Powers, sweating 
and excited, was trying desperately to do a dozen 
things at once. 

‘*For the love of Pete,'’ he panted as Buddy came 
up, ‘'look at that mob! I’m up to my neck. How 
are we ever going to pick a team?” 

Buddy didn’t know. The work had an appear- 
ance of hopeless confusion. Instead of saying 
what he thought, he asked what he should do. 

“Search me,” said Jimmy. “Do all big schools 
go through this? Ask Mr. Ferris. There he is.” 

The coach seemed not in the least disturbed by 
the rush of candidates. Alert and watchful, he 
was going about the field from group to group. 
From time to time he made strange marks on some 
cards he carried in his hands. 

“Anything for me to do?” Buddy asked. 

“Just a minute.” Mr. Ferris approached a charg- 
ing line. “Here, you — you on the right end. 
What’s your name? Robinson? How do you ex- 
pect to charge from a flat-footed stand? Get on 
your toes. No, no, no. Balance your body. An 
opposing forward could pull you around at will. 
Here; this way.” 

The coach illustrated. Buddy marveled at how 
28 


LOST 


evenly he was balanced. His feet seemed planted 
in just the right place, and his back, strongly arched, 
seemed designed to withstand strategy and assault. 

‘‘Gee Buddy murmured. “Carrots O’Toole 
never showed us a pose like that.” 

Carrots, a town boy, had coached the high school 
teams until he moved to Irontown and bought a 
small vegetable store. 

Mr. Ferris came back clapping the dirt from his 
hands. “All right. Buddy. You’ll find a football 
under that tree wrapped in a sweater. See those 
centers and quarters passing? Get in there. 
There’s one center too many. Grab him and have 
him pass to you.” 

Buddy ran across the field and got the football. 
Four centers were passing to three quarterbacks, 
two of the centers taking turns handling the ball. 
As he began working with the odd boy, he wondered 
how Mr. Ferris could have remembered, amid all 
the uproar and disorder, that here was a group with 
a quarterback short. Pie fumbled the first two 
passes. 

“Give it a chance to come to you,” said the 
coach’s voice. “Don’t try to grasp it too soon.” 

29 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


And then he wondered how Mr. Ferris had got 
around to him so quickly. 

All that afternoon Buddy’s head was in a whirl. 
It seemed that the longer the practice lasted, the 
worse the disorder became. When the passing 
ended, a group of boys began to kick, and he 
found himself catching punts. Other boys trotted 
up and down the field in a line passing the ball from 
one to another. Still another group fell on a ball 
and picked up fumbles. And all the while a thin 
stream of players trickled out of the practice toward 
the side of the field, and other players kept coming 
out to take their places. 

Presently Mr. Ferris’s voice said: 'That’s enough 
for you fellows,” and Buddy found himself walk- 
ing from the field. He was breathing heavily, and 
was conscious that he was tired. It dawned on 
him that he hadn’t loafed a minute. Neither had 
anybody else loafed. Somehow, amid all that ap- 
parent confusion, some strange force had brought 
about a miracle of industry. 

On the side-line near him he saw Terry 
McCarthy. Terry seemed perfectly at ease, as 
though the turmoil of the field had passed him by. 
It came to Buddy that Terry was almost always 

30 


.OST 


more or less like that— calm and confident, and 
quite sure of himself. 

‘^Hello,” Buddy said. ‘Where were you out 
there?’' 

^‘In your squad.” 

“I didn’t see you.” 

Terry smiled. ‘T guess it was your first ex- 
perience with a mob. I remember the first time I 
hit a big field. I was so rattled I couldn’t do a 
thing.” 

‘T wasn’t rattled,” Buddy said defensively. 

‘T was the first time, and the second and third 
times, too. We had over one hundred candidates 
out.” 

Over one hundred? Why, at that rate, a mere 
seventy must seem of small moment. No wonder 
Terry could be so calm. Buddy experienced a 
sense of inferiority to this other boy to whom to- 
day’s experiences brought no flutter of the heart. 
And he was ashamed because he had denied what 
must have been apparent. 

“Maybe I was rattled,” he confessed. 

“Of course you were,” Terry laughed. “Every- 
body goes through the rattle stage.” 

Buddy wondered if he would ever have this vet- 
31 ' 


FIGHTING FOn FAIRVIEW 


eran^s poise. '^Are all first days a3 bad as 
this ?” he asked. 

‘‘Oh, this is mild. Generally it’s worse.” 

“But how can they pick a team ?” 

“A week from now you’ll wonder at the change.” 

It did not seem possible that this disorder could 
be ironed out in seven days. 

“What are you out for?” Buddy asked. 

“Quarterback,” said Terry. 

Buddy’s nerves jumped. That was his position. 
His eyes met Terry’s, and for a moment they sur- 
veyed each other frankly. Terry’s gaze was 
shrewd and good-natured. 

“You and I aren’t going to scrap about it. Bud.” 

“Not much,” Buddy said stoutly — and fell to pat- 
ting the turf thoughtfully with his foot. 

Schuyler Arch had come out for the team. Now 
he came toward them buttoning on a coat sweater. 

“Finest bunch of limatics in the United States,” 
he announced, nodding toward the field. “I bet I 
did everything but eat the ball and get kicked for a 
goal. Maybe I’ll get that to-morrow.” 

Terry laughed. “Is it so much different from 
last year?” 


32 


LOST 


“My eye, yes. Last year we gave out signals 
the first day and began to scrimmage.” 

“And had fellows fumbling all season.” 

Schuyler's eyes opened wide. “How did you 
know that?” 

“I played on that kind of team in grammar 
school,” said Terry. 

The practice broke up, and the players scattered. 
Buddy and Schuyler walked off together. 

“Terry's a pretty decent chap,” Schuyler said. 
“No airs at all. I bet he’s a bully football player.” 

Buddy had meant to tell that Terry was out for 
quarterback. All at once he changed his mind. 

Next day Buddy found the field just as mad a 
scramble as the day before. The third day condi- 
tions were no better. But on the fourth afternoon, 
out of the turmoil and the uproar, order and system 
began to show its head. There was less confusion 
— less running around willy-nilly — less of one 
group of players getting in another group's way. 

It seemed, too, that there weren't so many boys 
out. After the day’s work Buddy asked Jimmy 
Powers. 

“Ten were dropped last night,” said the captain 
in a low voice. He had caught some of the coach's 
33 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


calmness. ‘^Mr. Ferris told me it was not good 
policy to say much about that. Some fellows are 

sensitive, and it makes them sore. So ’’ 

‘‘Sure,’^ said Buddy; “Fll keep quiet.’’ He 
walked home shaking his head. Any man, he 
thought, who could pick hopeless players instinc- 
tively from such a scramble, was a wonder. Fair- 
view was certainly getting a brand of football 
coaching that she had never had before. 

True to Terry’s prophecy, order began to come at 
the end of a week. The squad was now down to 
forty-odd boys. Schuyler was among those kept; 
but when Buddy spoke of them both making the 
team, he smiled wryly. 

Friday afternoon, after the practice, Jimmy 
Powers called to the players to form a group. 

“We have decided,” said Mr. Ferris, “to start 
scrimmage work Monday. As you know, our first 
game comes a week from to-day. We have 

broken the squad into two groups ” 

“School team and scrub?” a voice interrupted. 
“No,” said Mr. Ferris seriously; “merely two 
groups. We have made no attempt to select a 
school team. What we want now is scrimmage 
work, and we have placed each boy where we think 
34 


LOST 


he will be the most useful. I have signals here. 
As your name is called, step up. Kellogg.” 

The first boy stepped forward and was handed a 
slip of paper. 

‘‘Oh! Just a moment,” the coach called. ‘T 
forgot to say that on each slip is a list of names. 
Those names indicate what other boys are in that 
particular group. I have — rather, we have — done 
that so that boys of one group will not be showing 
signals to boys of another group. McCarthy.” 

Buddy’s name was near the end. He did not look 
at his paper at once. Presently the distribution was 
over. Schuyler had not been called. 

‘They forgot you,” said Buddy as the group 
broke up. 

Schuyler shook his head. “I’m through. This 
bunch is too fast for me. I wouldn’t stand a 
chance.” 

“How do you know?” 

“Mr. Ferris admitted it. He was holding me to 
give me a season’s start in case I was bound for 
college. He said I showed promise. When I told 
him I was booked for a job next summer, that 
ended everything.” 

Buddy scratched his head. It was almost un- 

35 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 

canny, this habit the coach had of seeing ahead and 
making judgments. 

‘‘My eye,” said Schuyler, “I think he’s practically 
got his whole team mapped out now.” 

Buddy’s lips narrowed. As soon as he reached 
home he studied his list. There were fellows even 
he had recognized at once as good players — Terry, 
Jimmy Powers, Kellogg and Sanderson. None of 
the four was in his group. 

“I wonder what that means?” he asked himself 
slowly. 

Several times that night his mind strayed from 
his books. He had been quarterback of the team 
for two years. Twice he had led it in its big game 
against Irontown. But in those years the squad 
had been small. He had really had no competition. 
Now the field swarmed with players, many of 
whom had been stars at other schools. Could he 
hold his own against these stars? 

It was the first time he had asked himself this 
question. The afternoon he had discovered that 
Terry was a rival for quarterback, he had taken 
it for granted that he would have an equal chance. 
Would he? 

In imagination he pictured Terry on the field, 

36 


LOST 


and his heart sank a little. The next moment he 
braced his shoulders. Mr. Ferris and Terry may 
have been friends at Jersey City, but the coach was 
not the sort to play favorites. Everybody would 
get a fair chance. 

"‘ni fight it out,” Buddy told himself. Neverthe- 
less his eyes were wistful as he once more read the 
names of the boys who formed his squad. If only 
Jimmy Powers, or Kellogg, or Sanderson were on 
that list he would have felt better. 

Over Sunday he crammed on the signals. He 
had the quarterback's vital knack of memorizing 
quickly. Monday after classes, when he went down 
to his locker to don his moleskins, he had the signals 
mastered. 

Mr. Ferris had said that no effort had been made 
to form a first team and a scrub, or to form dis- 
tinction between the squads. For all of that Buddy 
was sure that to-day marked a crisis. Suppose one 
group showed a marked superiority. Wouldn’t 
that be an indication that it had been selected for 
its probable strength? Wouldn’t that be an indi- 
cation that Mr. Ferris had had some idea of the 
composition of the real school team? 

37 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 

It all depended, of course, on whether to-day’s 
scrimmage was to be the real thing or just a gentle 
welding together of the parts that make a football 
machine. 

“Look at Mr. Ferris,” said a voice. 

Buddy glanced down the room. The coach had 
been coming out in the same clothing he wore in 
the class-room. Now he was donning a faded can- 
vas jacket with a Yale blue jersey underneath. 

Buddy’s heart leaped. It was to be the real 
thing ! 

Every player felt the challenge of that uniform. 
On the field, each group kept by itself. Mr. Ferris 
and Jimmy Powers, off to one side, talked earnestly. 
The captain’s first nervousness was gone, and he 
looked far more competent. It was as though 
association with the coach had molded him and had 
formed him wonderfully. Suddenly Mr. Ferris 
walked toward Buddy’s group. 

“Lively, fellows,” he said. “Fll call a team. The 
rest of you to the side lines.” 

When he had finished, eleven boys of that group 
were left on the field. Buddy was one of them. 

“Speed doesn’t count for much at present,” said 
the coach. “We want accuracy. We’ll use four 

38 


LOST 


simple plays for a start — run around ends, thrust 
outside tackle, drive at center and a kick. I want 
you to walk through your plays. Ready, Buddy? 
Line up.’’ 

Buddy called a signal. The team walked through 
the play. Mr. Ferris, running back and forth in the 
rear, guided them so that each boy came to his ap- 
pointed place at the right time. 

Over and over again those four plays were tried. 
Slowly but surely the speed increased until the ex- 
ecution quickened into a trot. Whenever the ball 
was kicked. Buddy had time to look down the field. 
The other squad, under Jimmy’s direction, was 
walking through its plays, too. 

By and by he came to believe that after all there 
would be no scrimmaging to-day. And then, just 
before quitting time, Mr. Ferris scooped up the ball 
and shouted to Jimmy. The other squad came up 
the field on a run. 

'‘We’ll play a seven-minute scrimmage,” the 
coach announced. "This squad will carry the ball 
for three minutes, then a minute rest, and then you 
other fellows will take the ball for three minutes. 
Lineup! No kick-off. Ready! Go!” 

The two elevens crouched. The old battle-thrill 


39 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


ran through Buddy’s veins. He heard the tense 
breathing of the players, the sharp encouraging cries 
of the backfield men — and then he called the sig- 
nal. 

Seven minutes later it was over. Neither side 
had done much. There had been a deal of fumbling 
and of scrambling for a loose ball. The squads had 
not yet found themselves. 

Buddy, drying himself after his shower-bath, was 
sure that as yet there was nothing to show whether 
he was on the first team or the scrub. 

The next day there was more of walking through 
plays and of scrimmaging. The third day the 
thrusts and drives, instead of striking at tackles and 
center, began to spray all along the line. The scrim- 
mage period was lengthened to ten minutes. Buddy 
worked for a while, and then came out to give an- 
other quarterback candidate, Johnny Boice, a chance. 
But nobody, in the other squad, relieved Terry Mc- 
Carthy. 

The fourth day brought two changes. Two play- 
ers were moved from Buddy’s group to Terry’s, 
and a forward pass formation was introduced. And 
that day, too, Terry’s eleven began to push its oppo- 
nents steadily down the field. 


40 


LOST 


Buddy was sober as he dressed in the locker room. 
There wasn’t much doubt that Terry’s group was 
to be the school team. Mr. Ferris touched his arm. 

‘‘Wait in,” said the coach. 

Buddy, watching, saw that the man also spoke to 
Boice. He was not surprised, when the other can- 
didates left, to find that Johnny lingered behind. 

“Can you fellows carry two sets of signals in your 
head?” the coach asked abruptly. 

Buddy nodded. 

“I can,” said Boice. “I’ve had to do it before.” 

Mr. Ferris gave them each a slip of paper. 
“These are the first team signals. Master them. 
We go to Hasbrouck Saturday for the first game, 
and I’m going to take you along.” 

Buddy put his paper in his pocket. He saw 
Jimmy Powers watching him with grave concern, 
and he tried to smile. He had an idea that Jimmy 
thought he was hurt. Outside Boice said : 

“Looks like Terry’s going to be first choice quar- 
terback.” 

“Yes,” Buddy said shortly. He was conscious of 
a sore spot some place within him. He tried to 
push aside the thought that bothered him, but nev- 
ertheless it clung. Why should Mr. Ferris select 

41 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


Terry when there had been so little work, so little 
real opportunity to judge? 

‘‘Going to Hasbrouck Saturday Bob asked him 
that night. 

He nodded, but did not speak enthusiastically 
as was his habit. Bob laid a hand on his arm. 

“Big schools and big squads make a difference. 
Bud. Somebody must play second fiddle. Play 
your game. That's what will count with Mr. Fer- 
ns. 

“Fll play it," Buddy said stoutly. But it seemed 
strange to find the season about to start, and he 
only an understudy. And it seemed a long, long 
time since he and Schuyler had rejoiced in the glo- 
rious changes that would come to Fairview. 

At Hasbrouck no call came for him to play. 
Terry led the attack from the first whistle to the 
last. Using the simple football it had thus far been 
taught, the team won by a score of 13 — o. 

It was the first time Buddy had ever waited idly 
through a Fairview game. On the way home Jimmy 
Powers sat beside him and talked a blue streak. 
When the stage came to Fairview and they dis- 
mounted, Jimmy kept shifting his grip from one 
hand to the other. 


42 


LOST 


“Look here/’ he said nervously, “you under-* 
stand, don’t you? It’s all right, isn’t it?” 

“Sure,” said Buddy. “Mr. Ferris knows best.” 

During the following week the scrimmages grad- 
ually developed into grim battles. But fight as hard 
as Buddy’s squad might, Terry’s squad was the mas- 
ter. Buddy was used to playing on a team that if it 
did not win at least was always dangerous. It came 
hard to give his best to a discouraging task, to a 
scrub that always seemed to lose ground and never 
seemed to gain. Sometimes he felt the inclination 
that tempts many scrub players — ^the inclination 
to relax, to let up, to permit the first team to have 
its way. 

That week he and Boice began to get short 
stretches of running the first team through signals. 
Up to this point Buddy had looked upon himself 
as second to Terry. Now he began to question if 
this was so. For Boice had a competent pair of 
hands for handling the ball, and a cool head, and a 
deadly arm for throwing the forward pass. 

“Watching Johnny?” Schuyler asked him as they 
walked home from one practice period. 

Buddy nodded. Boice had done some wonderful 
forward passing that day. 

43 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


Schuyler stole a look at his face. “The school 
is stronger than it ever was/^ he said. “We fel- 
lows who were leaders before may be merely small 
potatoes now."' 

Buddy gave a wry smile. “YouTe not the only 
one finding that out,” he said. 

The next game was against Lackawanna at home, 
and Lackawanna was routed. Before the end of 
the third period the score was 39 — o. In games as 
easy as this, a coach usually sends in some second 
string players before the finish. Buddy waited on 
his toes. But it was Boice who was sent in early 
in the fourth quarter to try his forward passing. 
Buddy swallowed a lump in his throat. 

He wondered if he would ever get a chance. 
Boice, not in the least excited, shot four successful 
forward passes before the game ended. It began to 
look to Buddy as though he would be third among 
the quarterbacks. 

But in spite of his discouragement, he played in 
practice as hard as he knew how. And then came 
the third contest, with Pompton as the opposing 
team. 

It was another at-home game. It was also an- 
other slaughter. The powerful Fairview attack 
44 


LOST 


scored two touchdowns in the first quarter, one 
touchdown and a field goal in the second, and three 
touchdowns in the third. During the minute rest 
Buddy saw Mr. Ferris staring toward the substi- 
tutes. 

“Get ready,’* he said to Boice. 

But it was his own name that the coach called. 

He bounded toward the field. Twenty seconds 
later he was crouched behind the center. A short 
time thereafter Fairview had scored her seventh 
touchdown. 

“Pretty work,” cried Jimmy Powers. 

Buddy experienced a happiness he had not known 
for days. When Fairview secured the ball again, 
he drove mercilessly at Pompton’s defenses. His 
ambition was to play fast, to roll up a score, to show 
Mr. Ferris what he could do. In his eagerness he 
reached too soon for a pass from the center. 

“Ball!” screamed Jimmy Powers. 

Buddy’s heart stood still. Pompton boys and 
Fairview boys were scrambling for the bounding 
oval. He saw a chance and threw himself forward. 
A Pompton player blocked his path. He slipped, 
twisted on one leg, and felt a sickening shock of 
pain. 

45 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


It seemed hours later that the sea of tangled arms 
and legs righted themselves. The referee^s voice 
said, ‘Tompton’s ball/* The players scrambled to 
their feet. Buddy lay still. 

Jimmy ran to his side. “Hurt? Where?’* 

“Ankle,” Buddy said weakly. 

They carried him to the side-line, and Boice went 
in. Mr. Ferris examined the hurt. 

“Slight sprain,” he said. “This will keep you off 
your feet for a while, Bud.” 

Buddy sighed, and looked out at the field. Fair- 
view had the ball again; and while he watched, 
Boice shot one of his perfect forward passes. The 
boys who had formed around him as he was carried 
off, cheered and broke away, and ran up the field 
to follow Fairview’s gain. Schuyler and two of his 
own squad carried him home. 

For three days he chafed in a chair while his 
mother kept cold compresses on his ankle. Mr. 
Ferris came once to see him, and every evening for 
the first few days some of the players dropped in. 
After he started to hobble around the visits ceased 
and he was left alone. 

Five days later he was back in classes. He spoke 
to Mr. Ferris about coming to the field. 

46 


LOST 


‘‘Next week/’ said the coach. “Give that ankle 
a chance to mend.” 

So it was not until the tenth day that Buddy once 
more donned his uniform. For a moment, in the 
locker room, the squad hovered about him — ^but 
only for a moment. There were other things to 
think about; and, besides, there was no novelty to 
an injury ten days after it had happened. 

Buddy strapped on an ankle bandage. By the 
time he was ready the locker room was deserted. 
When he reached the field the practice was on. 
Boice was running the second team. 

Buddy had pictured the practice running on day 
after day just as he had left it. Before many min- 
utes had passed, his heart was down in his shoes. 
While he had been away the character of the work 
had undergone a complete change. There were 
criss-crosses, and trick plays, and special forma- 
tions, and plays in which boys in the line circled 
back to run with the ball. He had never seen such 
a variety of offensive skill. He felt that he had 
been hopelessly left back. He was lost. 

All during the practice he waited for the call 
that did not come. After all, why should they put 
47 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


him in when he knew only the simple formations? 
The squad was far past that. 

At the end he tramped back to the locker room. 
He went along on the outskirts of the crowd, lis- 
tening, but taking no part in the shouting and the 
talking. 

The school. Buddy reflected, had become too big 
to hold back and wait for those who lagged. If a 
player faltered, somebody else took his place. It 
was necessary. It was the luck of the game. 

He was no longer a player of importance. He 
was merely a cog in a busy, highly-efficient ma- 
chine. It was something new, this merely being a 
cog. There had been no cogs at the old Fairview. 
It was all right, of course — but it stung. 


CHAPTER III 


A QUESTION TO DECIDE 

B UDDY’S standards of what was right and 
what was wrong were probably as high as 
those of any boy at Fairview. He believed 
in standing by. It was part of his creed to play 
fair. But he had never before been called upon to 
take the poor, unnoticed portion of the scrub, to 
spend his days in obscurity, and to stand aside in 
silence when the games were played. 

At little Fairview there had been no stepping 
aside. Even the substitutes were important because 
there were so few of them. At big Fairview, 
though, all this was changed. Everything seemed 
a business-like, self-centered scramble, with those 
players who could not stand at the top ingloriously 
cast aside. 

Buddy would have been indignant had anybody 
told him that he was selfish. And yet that was 
49 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 

just his trouble. He was piqued to find himself of 
such small importance. 

Nor was he entirely to blame for his feelings. 
Fairview in the past had been too small to teach 
him some valuable lessons of service. Students 
of big schools learn to accept the scrub cheerfully, 
for it is only the lucky few who make the teams. 
Buddy, on the other hand, was used to a system 
where, with only a handful of candidates, almost 
everybody won a place. He was going to find it dif- 
ficult to accept a minor part and yet give his best 
with a whole heart. 

There was one person at school who understood 
pretty well what was passing through his mind. 
And because he did understand, Mr. Ferris tried to 
soothe the unaccustomed hurt. Perhaps, he thought, 
a friendly word of explanation would set the boy 
right. When Buddy left the locker room, He fol- 
lowed him to the hall and took his arm. 

“Upstairs,” he said. 

Buddy went wonderingly. Was Mr. Ferris going 
to tell him that he had better not come out any more ? 
He braced himself to take the blow. 

The coach led the way into his class-room. From 

50 


A QUESTION TO DECIDE 

the desk at the front of the room he took a paper. 

‘‘Ankle all right ?"’ he asked. 

Buddy said it was, and moved it quickly from 
side to side. 

“Good ! Here are the signals for the new plays, 
and diagrams of how they go. Can you get them 
in a couple of days?’’ 

Buddy’s head was in a whirl. Was he going 
to get another chance? 

“Yes, sir,” he managed to say. 

“All right ! Now, here’s the idea. Buddy. Ankles 
are the trickiest spots in a football player’s body. 
Once you injure them, you never know when you’re 
going to have a come-back that same season. You 
lost ten days when the eleven was just finding it- 
self as a team. Added to that, you have the lia- 
bility of a suspicious ankle. Those two facts al- 
most bar you from the first team. Mind, I don’t 
say you can’t make the team, but the chances are 
against it.” 

Buddy’s face lengthened. The hand that held 
the paper fell to his side. Of what use was it to 
learn new plays if the way to the school team was 
barred ? 

“The sooner you master those plays,” said the 

51 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


coach, “the sooner you can begin to run through 
them with the scrub. By next week I can put you 
in the practice scrimmages. 

Buddy’s face did not brighten. 

‘Tm depending on you,” said Mr. Ferris. 

Something in the way he said it made the boy 
look up. After a moment his eyes fell. 

“To do what, sir?” he asked. 

“To help me move Boice over so that he can give 
all his time to the first team.” 

Buddy’s face went blank. Was the coach coaxing 
him to deliberately push a rival player into the 
place of honor? 

“I’m afraid you do not understand,” Mr. Ferris 
said gently. “The first team must have at least 
two quarterbacks. If these two boys can devote all 
their attention to that one job, the first team’s play- 
ing will become smoother and stronger. If you can 
pilot the scrub successfully, Boice can devote all his 
time to helping Terry. It will be the old story of a 
one- job man knowing that one job well. But it’s 
all up to you.” 

Buddy’s hand moved, and he looked at the paper. 
Somehow, what the man had said thrilled him. He 

52 


A QUESTION TO DECIDE 

could not quite understand it, but the sting in his 
heart was soothed. 

'‘What you will be doing,” the coach went on, 
“will be just as important to Fairview as though 
you were out there with the team.” 

There was an interval of silence. 

“ril do my best,” Buddy said at last. When 
they came downstairs, later, the coach’s hand rested 
on his shoulder. 

Monday Buddy went to the scrub with a grim 
determination to do what Mr. Ferris had asked. 
When the final whistle blew Terry McCarthy 
yanked off his head-piece and rubbed a dirty sweater 
sleeve across his face. 

“Fast work,” he grinned. 

Buddy grinned in return. He wasn’t going to 
let anybody see that he didn’t enjoy his job. 

“Come on, team,” cried Mr. Ferris; “up to the 
locker room on a trot.” Then, almost as an after- 
thought: “Hurry, scrub.” 

Terry turned away. Buddy watched him cross 
the field. Suddenly, for the first time since their 
paths had crossed, he felt that there was something 
about Terry that he did not like. It was not jealousy. 
53 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


It was something that Terry did — something he 
could not analyze. 

That afternoon, in the dressing room, Mr. Fer- 
ris went over that day’s play while the first team, 
partly dressed, crowded around him. Nobody ad- 
vised the scrub. Buddy went out with a wistful, 
side-long glance at the group. 

Five days a week he worked at the drudgery of 
furnishing stiff practice for a stronger, abler team. 
On the sixth day — game day — he sat on the side line 
and watched that stronger team play. He had all 
the first team’s signals now, but there was never 
a call for him to go in. Nor was there ever a place 
for him in the councils of war that were held at 
the coach’s home. Terry McCarthy sat in them — 
and so did Boice. 

‘^Anyway,” Buddy told himself sturdily, *T’m 
giving Boice his chance.” 

One day there was a bitter, wearying practice on 
a muddy field. All afternoon the scrub was kept 
on defensive. The first team battered away until it 
had perfected three new plays. 

“That’s all,” said the coach. 

A raw chill had come down out of the north. 
Buddy was tired and sore. Terry, carelessly swing- 
54 


A QUESTION TO DECIDE 

ing his headpiece, went past him whistling. All at 
once the feeling of antagonism came again. There 
was something about Terry now that he did not 
like and could never like. 

To-night, as he went back toward the school, 
Schuyler Arch walked at his side. 

“IVe been wondering,’’ said Schuyler, ‘"how I’d 
feel next spring if some new fellows should walk 
away with all the pitching honors.” 

‘‘Well ?” Buddy asked sharply. He was the base- 
ball captain, and this interested him. 

“If that happens,” Schuyler answered, “it will 
be easier for me to swallow it after seeing the way 
you’ve played on the scrub.” 

Buddy drew a deep breath. His tired back 
straightened. It was good to know that even in 
the lowly scrub it made a difference to somebody 
how you carried your load. 

In the days that followed he tried hard to throw 
off the resentment that stole over him every time he 
watched Terry play. The quarterback always 
greeted him with a smile and a cheery word, and 
many times walked with him from the school to 
the field. Terry’s friendliness made him feel guilty, 
as though he were harboring dark thoughts against 
55 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


a boy who deserved better treatment. What was 
it about the quarterback that aroused his ire ? 

The feeling was with him when Fairview de- 
feated Saddle River. It was with him when the 
team tore through Gates’s defenses. It was still 
in his heart when, in the final game of the season, 
Fairview beat the ancient enemy Irontown'as no 
Irontown eleven had ever been beaten before. 

Substitutes and students ran shrieking along the 
side lines as Fairview piled up her score. Buddy, 
burrowing deep into the warmth of his sweater, 
walked the line in silence. Why was he dissatisfied 
even in this great moment of victory? Why was 
he dissatisfied? 

All of a sudden the mists were gone and he knew. 
Terry was playing a great game, but it was the 
great of the superb, natural-born athlete to whom 
all games are easy. It lacked a certain divine 
something that was in the playing of Captain Jimmy 
Powers. Had you asked any boy in school was 
Jimmy as good as Terry, there would have been a 
laugh. And yet Jimmy had the thing that Terry 
McCarthy lacked. 

Not that Buddy doubted the quarterback’s loy- 
alty. Terry was for Fairview. He played easily 
S6 


A QUESTION TO DECIDE 

and well because it was his good fortune to be able 
to play easily and well. Where another boy would 
not have been satisfied short of the best that his 
strength could give, Terry was content to rest on 
just being very good. A defeat would have filled 
him with genuine sorrow; but it would have been 
sorrow because the team had lost a game, and not 
sorrow because the record of the school had suf- 
fered a black mark. 

All this Buddy now saw clearly. If Terry was 

going to play baseball like that He thrust 

the thought aside. Why borrow trouble? Any- 
way, if a fellow could play a game like sixty, may- 
be it would be unfair to ask him to strain himself 
to play it like seventy. 

But for all that. Buddy knew that he would never 
be satisfied with anything less than any player’s 
best. 

As soon as the final whistle shrilled, the hilarious 
students charged out upon the field. Jimmy Pow- 
ers and Terry and the other players were hoisted 
on willing shoulders. A noisy procession moved 
toward the school. Fairview’s hymn rose trium- 
phantly from throats to whom it was almost new : 


57 


Words by 
WILLIAM HEYLIGER 


Fairviewfe Glory 


Music 
FRANK J. WALSH 



la 


m 


Come- lift your voic • es 
Though, storms may threat en 




let them ring to 
to en . gulf and 


m 




■r ~r- f ' i 


i 








$ 


Fair- viewfe praise and glo . ry 
tem-pests may en • dan . ger 


No stain shall dark • en 
Her cour - age will throw 





f— wU 




— H 

r r ■ i 

i r.j 









FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


Never, Buddy thought wistfully, had the old 
school hymn sounded finer. He wondered how 
much it really meant to one of the boys up there. 

He stood listening until the crowd turned a cor- 
ner. Several sweaters had been left where the first 
team players had piled them. He gathered them 
up, and followed in the wake of the procession. 

At the school there was a great deal of shouting 
and cheering coming from the basement. The 
main corridor was deserted. Near the head of the 
staircase leading to the locker rooms he met the 
coach. 

‘^Good boy. Buddy,*’ cried Mr. Ferris. ‘T was 
on my way back for those.” 

Buddy handed the sweaters over and started down 
the stairs. The coach’s hand detained him. 

^‘What did you think of the game?” 

'‘Great, sir.” 

"And the team?” 

Buddy read what lay behind the question. His 
lips formed a wry smile. "You were right — the 
scrub was where I belonged. They were too fast 
for me.” 

"And yet,” said the coach, "it was the scrub that 
hardened the team, and toughened it, and made it 
6o 


A QUESTION TO DECIDE 

what it was to-day. You stood by me and you stood 
by the school.*’ 

‘T wish I could have done more,” Buddy said 
huskily. It was the first time he had really wished 
that. He hurried down the stairs. 

That night, with his football togs tied into a 
bundle, he reached the gate just as Bob came down 
the street. They walked into the house together. 

‘‘Season over?” Bob asked. 

Buddy nodded. 

“Did you get a chance to-day ?” 

The boy shook his head. The Irontown game 
was far from his thoughts. “Mr. Ferris is a prince,” 
he said, and went upstairs to put the uniform away. 

A week later the football season was only a mem- 
ory, and the school turned eagerly to basketball. 
But though Buddy encouraged the new sport at 
practice periods and attended the games, his heart 
was back with the season that had ended. Time 
and again his mind reviewed three scenes^ — the day 
he had first met Mr. Ferris, the time he had been 
asked to surrender his ambitions and to content 
himself with the scrub, and that last talk at the head 
of the locker room stairs. 

He felt toward Mr. Ferris as he had felt toward 

6i 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


no other man. Respect, and admiration, and fer- 
vor all united to form a sentiment that was almost 
hero worship. It was electric; it filled him with 
an emotion that was deep and profound. Oh, but 
being captain of the baseball team would be won- 
derful next spring. He would be in Mr. Ferris's 
confidence; he would go out to his house and sit 
with him and plan. A warm thrill ran through 
his veins. 

Sometimes he thought of Terry. Would Terry 
play baseball as he had played football? Usually 
Buddy shrugged his shoulders and cast the thought 
aside. Why worry now ? But sometimes he sighed. 
Why couldn't Terry have that ounce — ^just that 
little ounce — of hot, passionate ardor? 

The basketball team had an indifferent season. 
It was not one of Mr. Ferris's games, and he did 
not try to coach. The team made poor progress. 
Sometimes it won, but most of the time it lost. 
Irontown, in the last game of the season, took am- 
ple revenge for her football defeat, and went home 
singing Men of Iron with lusty joy. 

The basketball season ended in January. After 
that there was a lull. Down in the gymnasium, 
broad jumpers and high jumpers got some prac- 
62 


A QUESTION TO DECIDE 

tice, but everything else seemed dead. About the 
middle of February came days that were almost 
mild. Suddenly the track candidates assembled, 
and went out for easy jogging runs through the 
town. 

Buddy told himself that it would soon be time for 
baseball. That afternoon Mr. Ferris stopped him 
in one of the halls. 

“How about starting something?’’ the coach 
asked. 

“Could we ?” Buddy demanded eagerly. 

Mr. Ferris smiled. “There’s a lot to be done. 
We know nothing about most of these boys. Can 
you come to my house Friday night?” 

Could he? Buddy drew a deep breath. He 
would like to see anything stop him ! 

Friday night he sat in Mr. Ferris’s library with 
fast-beating heart. Two chairs, deep and wide 
and comfortable, were drawn up in front of a glow- 
ing grate fire. 

“The first thing,” said Mr. Ferris, “is to find 
out what material we have, what it can do, and how 
well it can do it. We must find that out at once.” 

“Before practice starts?” Buddy asked. 

63 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


‘^Oh, yes. Then we won't be swamped the first 
week or two." 

This was something new. Buddy never before 
had heard of getting a line on a player before a ball 
was thrown. 

‘‘Can we?" he asked. 

“Well, not absolutely, but after a fashion. I 
have thought of using a sort of card index of our 
resources. This is what I had in mind. What do 
you think of it?" 

The coach held out a slip of paper. Buddy took 
it and read it slowly: 


NAME 

AGE HEIGHT WEIGHT . . . 

WHERE DID YOU PLAY LAST 

HOW LONG WHAT POSITION 

HOW DO YOU BAT THROW 

BATTING AVERAGE FIELDING AVERAGE 

IF PITCHER GIVE GAMES WON LOST . 


Buddy stared at the paper a long time. He 
couldn’t grasp just what it all meant. 

“In asking how they bat," said Mr. Ferris, “we’re 
looking pretty far ahead, perhaps. If almost every- 
body should happen to be a right-handed hitter, it 

64 



A QUESTION TO DECIDE 

might be good policy to take special pains to develop 
a few left-handers.*^ 

Buddy could see that. Many school pitchers who 
were strong against right-handers, seemed to be 
bothered by a left-handed boy’s position at the plate. 

‘'How abou't age, height and weight?” he asked. 

“Weight is important. If a fellow carries too 
much, he’s apt to be slow. If he carries not enough, 
he may lack stamina. We want his height to judge 
what his weight means.” 

“And age?” 

“An 1 8-year-old player ought to be better than 
a 1 6-year-old. He’s had a two-year advantage in 
learning to play his game.” 

Buddy thought he began to see all the possibili- 
ties of the card. 

“And the games won and lost will give us a line 
on the pitchers,” he said eagerly. 

The cbach smiled and shook his head. “That 
line is plain fishing. It’s a good thing to know, 
but you can’t rely on it too much.” 

Buddy’s eyes asked why. 

“Because,” Mr. Ferris explained, “a boy who 
won a lot of games may have pitched poor ball and 
yet have won because his team-mates could slug. 

65 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


A pitcher possessing what looks like a poor record, 
may have done good work for a very weak team.*’ 

Buddy was frankly puzzled. What good, then, 
was that last line? 

‘Tf we know his school,” said the coach, ‘*we 
can easily learn what teams it faced and their 
strength. That will help some.” 

Buddy nodded. He saw it now. Nobody but 
Mr. Ferris, he was sure, would ever have thought 
of such a scheme. 

‘‘Like it ?” the coach asked. 

“Great!” Buddy cried impulsively. 

“Shall we have the cards printed?” 

“You bet. Gosh! we’re going to have baseball 
with science, aren’t we ?” 

“We’ll try,” Mr. Ferris smiled. 

On the way home it dawned on Buddy that the 
coach had not once said “L” It had always been 
“we.” He thrilled at this fresh evidence of their 
partnership. 

When the cards came from the printers, a notice 
was posted caiilng upon all baseball candidates to 
register. That afternoon forty cards were given 
out. By Friday all were returned, and Buddy went 
again to Mr. Ferris’s house. 

66 


A QUESTION TO DECIDE 

For more than an hour they worked at the library 
table. Then Mr. Ferris leaned back in his chair 
and smiled. Buddy's face wore a wide grin. 

‘•Gosh!” he said; “can't those fellows hit? 
What's the grand average?” 

“Let me see.” The coach searched for the paper 
he wanted. “Here it is — .285.” 

Buddy's eyes snapped. A team with such hit- 
ters ought to make trouble for any pitcher. 

“It's a nicely split up squad,” the coach went on. 
“Five pitchers, four catchers, thirteen infielders and 
eighteen outfielders. Just enough of everything 
and not too much of anything. And the fielding 
averages are good, too.” 

“We ought to be able to get a swell team,” 
Buddy exulted. His mind was still on the batting 
averages. “Who was high?” he asked. 

“Terry McCarthy,” said the coach. 

Buddy nodded. “I might have known that. I 
saw him hit in a scrub game last September. 
What's his average?” 

“For eighteen games, .349.” 

Buddy whistled. With Terry hitting like that 
and playing like sixty His face grew troubled. 

67 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


Would Terry play with all his heart, or just with 
his capable, natural skill? 

Mr. Ferris saw the troubled look, and immedi- 
ately jumped to a conclusion. “What was your bat- 
ting average last year?’’ he asked suddenly. 

“Two-eighty-five,” said Buddy. He threw aside 
the thought that kept plaguing him every so often. 
The talk turned to the five pitching candidates. An 
hour later, when Buddy started for home, he left 
behind him a coach who thought, regretfully, that 
the first pangs of jealousy had entered a captain’s 
heart 

But jealousy had no place in Buddy’s thoughts. 
He did not view Terry as a rival. He was the cap- 
tain. He had supreme authority to say who should 
play and who should sit on the bench. 

Not that he would ever have insisted on playing 
had he believed it to be against the best interests 
of the school. But he had been elected captain for 
what? To lead, of course. To his mind, being 
captain of a team was like being captain of a com- 
pany in war. You were expected to lead because 
it was your place. You had to be out in front, 
encouraging, urging, and showing the way. Of 
course, in minor engagements, a lieutenant could 
68 


A QUESTION TO DECIDE 

be sent out to take command; but when the big 
moments came a captain’s duty was to be in the van. 
Playing ability, as Buddy saw it, didn’t altogether 
count. In war, captains weren’t selected because 
they were better fighters, but because they were bet- 
ter leaders while the fight was on. How could a 
captain lead from the bench? 

If Buddy gave Terry, as catcher, a thought at all, 
it was to view him as a lieutenant. It never dawned 
on him that sometimes even a captain might have 
to stand aside. 

The following Wednesday the baseball candi- 
dates got their first taste of work. They came 
crowding to the gymnasium as soon as classes were 
over. The windows were protected by heavy wire, 
and there was plenty of room to throw a baseball 
around. They raced out on the floor, and were 
promptly shooed off. 

Buddy and Mr. Ferris had decided that forty boys 
in the place at once would be too much. The squad 
was broken into three groups. Sixteen boys were 
assigned to practice from 3 o’clock until 3 130 ; fif- 
teen from 3 :30 to 4, and nine for the last half 
hour. Those nine were the pitchers and the catchers. 
69 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


As soon as the first group had taken the floor, 
Mr. Ferris outlined the program: 

"Ten minutes of exercises to limber up, fellows, 
and then twenty minutes of throwing and catching 
the ball. Everything is barred except gentle tosses. 
That will be the program until we get outdoors.” 

""Gee !” said a voice. ""Nothing but baby throws.” 

""Right!” said the coach. "‘Your hands will get 
used to the feel of the ball, and your throwing 
muscles will come to life. That’s all we want now. 
Of course, if any of you fellows know more about 
this than I do, or have a better plan ” 

“You’re the boss, coach,” a laughing voice called, 
and the first squad got to work. 

Buddy found this a wonderful afternoon. It was 
exhilarating to take his place in that last group and 
to feel a baseball once more plunking solidly into 
his glove. It was greater still to find Mr. Ferris 
behind him watching the work with quiet, steady 
eyes. It filled him with a confidence he had never 
known before. 

Two of the pitching candidates threw to him — 
Schuyler Arch and a boy named Dodd. Down at 
the other end Vanelli, a stocky lad, threw to Terry 
70 


A QUESTION TO DECIDE 

McCarthy. The other pitchers and catchers were 
sandwiched in between. 

When the work for the day ended, Terry threw 
his glove into his locker. ‘‘Husky-looking bunch,** 
he said genially to Buddy. 

Buddy nodded eagerly. “We ought to find the 
makings of a good team.’* 

“Ought to,** said Terry, and went off down the 
room whistling. 

Buddy frowned. Then Schuyler’s voice sounded 
in his ear. 

“They shape up great, don’t they? How was 
Dodd? A little wild?” 

Buddy nodded again, this time absently. Why 
couldn’t Terry show a little of that quick interest? 

A week later the gentle work had limbered mus- 
cles that had lain dormant over the winter. Base- 
balls were now being thrown with some force. Even 
the pitchers were using a dash of speed. 

There were times when those forty candidates 
made Buddy’s head swim. Without Mr. Ferris’s 
aid, he knew, it would have been impossible for him 
to have handled so many boys. 

The pitchers bothered him the most. He had 
caught them all in turn, but seemed unable to judge 

71 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


their abilities. Schuyler Arch, he knew from ex- 
perience, was good. Dodd, he was sure, would fail 
because he could not control the ball. With respect 
to the others — Vanelli, O’Rourke and Stuart — ^he 
was completely in the dark. 

Inquiries had been sent to their old schools. 
There came a day, at the end of the practice, when 
Mr. Ferris drew him aside and handed him three 
letters. 

‘'There’s the dope,” the coach said. “We know 
now where we stand.” 

“Just from what the letters say?” Buddy asked. 

“From that, and also from what we can see in 
here. Stuart is out of it. He goes to pieces after 
three or four innings. His weight looked to be 
against him all along. Remember? We spoke 
about that.” 

Buddy wrinkled his forehead. Yes; the coach 
had made that prediction. 

“O’Rourke’s record looks good, and I have liked 
the way he handles himself. That brings us to 
Vanelli. I think he’s going to be our big gun.” 

“Better than Schuyler?” Buddy asked. 

“I think so.” 


72 


A QUESTION TO DECIDE 


The captain was astounded. He had had a dim 
idea that stocky, slow-moving Vanelli was too slug- 
gish. 

‘‘He^s just as calm with the bases full and none 
out,” said the coach. ‘That’s his nature. Unless 
I miss my guess, he’ll move fast enough when 
there’s cause for speed.” 

Buddy looked down the room to where Vanelli 
was standing in front of his locker. Once more he 
felt how good it was to have Mr. Ferris to lean on. 
He would never have suspected great possibilities in 
the pitcher. 

Terry McCarthy, ready for the street, sauntered 
down the room. “Hello, Bud,” he greeted, and 
turned to the man. “That chap Vanelli looks like 
the goods to me, coach.” 

“Thank you,” Mr. Ferris said smiling. “We’ll 
keep an eye on him.” 

Terry went up the stairs. Buddy turned slowly 
toward his own locker. Mr. Ferris gave him a 
quick look. 

Back in the football days Buddy had felt a sense 
of inferiority when Terry was around. Now he 
experienced the same sensation. It made him un- 
comfortable. Plainly Terry’s knowledge of the 
73 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


pitchers was greater than his — and he was captain 
and supposed to know most about his team. 

It was a long time since he had gone to Bob 
with a school problem, but he went to him to-night. 

“How about Jimmy Powers?” Bob asked. “He 
was captain. Was he a better football player than 
Terry? Did he know more about the game?” 

Buddy shook his head. No; Terry had been the 
best player on the team, and had known most 
about the game. 

“It isn’t so much what a captain does himself,” 
said Bob. “It’s what he does for the team.” 

Buddy gave a sigh of relief — and then his face 
grew thoughtful. What he does for the team! A 
new idea came to him. 

Next morning he met Mr. Ferris outside the 
school. “Could Terry come to our conferences?” 
he asked. 

The coach’s face was expressionless. “Why?” 

“He knows the game,” Buddy said simply. 

He wondered what Mr. Ferris would say to that. 
The coach said nothing just then. Somehow, 
though, it seemed to be understood that Terry 
should come. They walked into the school build- 
ing together. 


74 


A QUESTION TO DECIDE 

“Buddy,” said the coach, “I was beginning to 
worry about you.” 

“About me?” the boy asked in surprise. 

“But not now.” Mr. Ferris smiled at him, and 
gave him a playful push toward the cloak room. 

At noon he met Terry, and asked him could he 
come Friday night. 

“Sure thing.” Terry glanced critically at the 
swelling buds on the trees. “When will we get out- 
doors?” 

“Next week, I guess,” said Buddy. 

But it was twelve days before the squad, shout- 
ing and skylarking, poured out of the locker room 
for its first practice on the village field. 

And now Buddy found that his days were filled 
with a wonderful zest. In the soft spring after- 
noons he caught the pitchers, and batted to the in- 
fielders, and tried to give watchful attention to 
everything that happened. Ten boys had been 
dropped, and the squad was now down to thirty. 
But even thirty kept him busier than he had ever 
been before. 

Best of all were the times when he walked about 
the field with Mr. Ferris, watching the work and 
discussing the players. Little by little he began to 
75 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 

see things through the coach’s eyes — a fault here, 
a virtue there. He learned more baseball during 
those walks than he had ever known, and his re- 
spect and admiration for the man who taught him 
grew richer and deeper. Whatever Mr. Ferris said 
was law. He longed for the time when the first 
game would be played, for then they would go into 
battle together — he directing the battle from behind 
the plate, and the coach advising and encouraging 
from the bench. 

By and by two teams were formed and practice 
games were started. Sometimes he played on one 
team, and sometimes on the other. Sometimes he 
caught Vanelli, and at other times Schuyler or 
O’Rourke. Dodd had been dropped, but Stuart had 
been held. Stuart would come in useful if a pitcher 
had to be rushed into the breach at the tail end of 
a game. He was always good for two or three 
innings. , 

Sometimes Buddy’s team won ; sometimes Terry 
McCarthy’s team won. After one of these tussles, 
Schuyler walked back to the locker room with the 
captain. 

“How is Mr. Ferris rating Vanelli?” the pitcher 
asked. “Better than me?” 

76 


A QUESTION TO DECIDE 

The question was like a bomb-shell. Buddy hesi- 
tated. 

“Oh, of course he is,’’ Schuyler broke out. 
“What’s the use of dodging? There’s a whole lot 
of us who were stars last year who are going to 
play second fiddle this year.” He was silent a mo- 
ment. “It’s great, though,” he went on, “to be 
tied up with a bunch like this. It’s going to be a 
great team.” 

Buddy nodded in spite of himself. Yes; it was 
going to be a great team. In a corner of the locker- 
room he told the coach what Schuyler had said. 

“Was he sore?” Mr. Ferris demanded, 

“No, sir.” 

A boy came limping with a slight spike cut. Mr. 
Ferris examined the wound, gave directions for its 
care, and sent the player away. 

“In a big school,” he said, “only a few can have 
the honors. Service — that’s what counts. That’s 
what the big school teaches. To do the right thing 
even though it hurts, to step aside because it seems 

best ” He broke off abruptly, and though 

Buddy waited for him to go on, he said no more. 

Buddy’s mind was troubled. What did the coach 
mean ? 


77 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 

^'Van had a hop on his fast one to-day, didn’t 
he?” Terry called across the room. 

Buddy hadn’t noticed. He stared hard at the 

other boy. Step aside And then he shook his 

head impatiently. He was imagining things. 

March gave way to April. Up to a certain point, 
the work of the squad had increased steadily in 
smoothness and speed. Now, though, it seemed to 
have halted. Boys were moved from one team to 
another and different combinations were tried, but 
all to no purpose. Improvement seemed to have 
come to an end. And yet Buddy felt that the can- 
<iidates were capable of far greater effort. 

They talked it over at the Friday night confer- 
ences — at least he did. On this one subject Mr. 
Ferris was strangely silent. Terry was openly hos- 
tile. 

‘T don’t know where you get that complaint,” he 
said. “If you ask me. I’d say that the bunch was 
playing mighty swell ball.” 

“They are,” Buddy agreed. “But if they would 
try harder ” 

“What’s the difference?” Terry argued. “Good 
is good. We’re in a county league. When you win 

78 


A QUESTION TO DECIDE 

a game you get just so many points whether the 
score is 15 — o or 2 — i.” 

That was true enough. Nevertheless, Buddy felt 
that the logic was false. And he was sure that 
Schuyler Arch would not have uttered it, or Jimmy 
Powers, or any one of a dozen boys who were no 
longer at Fairview. 

It was almost time for the county pennant fight 
to start. Wednesday of next week the first games 
were to be played — Fairview at Saddle River, Iron- 
town against Pompton, Brunswick against Has- 
brouck, Lackawanna against Bloomfield, and Gates 
against Garrison. And as yet Fairview had not se- 
lected her team. 

Perhaps, Buddy thought, that was why Mr. Fer- 
ris had made no comment while he and Terry had 
argued. The coach was probably weighing the 
merits of this player and that. 

Monday’s practice was tense with uncertainty. 
For two hours Mr. Ferris kept the players hitting, 
hitting, hitting. Twice Terry McCarthy sent the 
ball screaming to the outfield, and turned away from 
the plate with his easy, confident air. Buddy found 
himself wishing that he could hit like that. 

When the work was done he walked off with the 


79 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVISW 

coach. Mr. Ferris’s forehead was puckered as 
though he was deep in thought. Once or twice 
Buddy imagined that the man gave him quick, side- 
long glances, but he was not sure. As they came 
in sight of the high school building the coach broke 
the silence. 

“Suppose we pick the nine to-night. I’ll be look- 
ing for you at eight o’clock.’’ 

“I’ll tell Terry,” Buddy cried, “and ” 

“No,” said the coach; “Terry’s out of this. Just 
you and me to-night.” 

To Buddy, this was fresh evidence of their inti- 
macy. Other fellows could come into small con- 
ferences, but when the big questions came, it was 
he and the coach alone. Oh, wouldn’t it be great 
to catch that opening game and to feel that Mr. 
Ferris was back there on the bench to help in an 
emergency — partner, coach, and friend? 

He was in high spirits at the supper table. To- 
morrow, no doubt, the batting order would be 
posted. Many boys would be disappointed. That 
thought sobered him. 

Nevertheless, his nerves were jumping with ex- 
citement as he rang the coach’s door bell. He ex- 
pected this conference to be wonderful indeed ; yet, 

4/ 

8o 


A QUESTION TO DECIDE 


when they sat down with the list of players between 
them, an atmosphere of gravity, of something stern 
that had to be done, settled over the room. His 
mind, strangely, went back to something the coach 
had said — to do the right thing even though it 
hurts, to step aside because it seems best! 

“Suppose we play Rood at second,’' Mr. Ferris 
said. “He’s almost a sure fielder on ground balls. 
His throwing arm isn’t any too strong, but the throw 
from the second-base position to first is short.” 

“He’s a good waiter at the plate,” said Buddy, 
“and a foxy base-runner.” 

“Let’s make him lead-off man,” said the coach. 

So Buddy wrote “Rood, 2B.” The construction 
of Fairview’s batting order had started. 

Half an hour later it was almost finished. The 
boy stared at the result. Many of the choices he 
would not have made, but Mr. Ferris had shown 
him that they were wise: 

Rood, 2B 
Meyers, CF 
Grant, RF 
Walters, SS 
Lewis, iB 
Baxter, LF 
Daly, 3B 
81 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


‘There^s no need of telling you,” said the coach, 
“the importance of winning the first game.” 

Buddy shook his head. This was not his first 
year as captain. He knew. 

“It starts you off with confidence,” the coach 
went on. “A team that loses its first game always 
goes into its second struggle wondering if it 
will lose again. You understand that. Bud, don't 
you?” 

Buddy nodded again. 

“Good ! Now, as to the pitchers ” 

“Vanelli,” Buddy said promptly. Schuyler was 
his friend, and he wished with all his heart that he 
could give Schuyler this important assignment. But 
facts were facts. Vanelli was unquestionably the 
better pitcher. 

The coach wrote the name. Then he began to 
play idly with his pencil, making strange, grotesque 
figures on the paper. 

Buddy sat back in his chair, and a peace stole 
through him. The tension was over. The selec- 
tions had been made. And as he sat there the min- 
utes passed. Nothing was said. Gradually it 
82 


A QUESTION TO DECIDE 

dawned on him that this silence seemed queer. He 
did not know what to make of it. 

The coach looked up. “There’s still one position 
to fill,” he said quietly. 

Buddy nodded. His own position. There did 
not seem to be any question about that. 

“Who’ll catch?” Mr. Ferris asked. 

“Why,” Buddy stammered in surprise, “I thought 
I would ” 

Suddenly the red flamed into his cheeks. It 
burned him, scorched him, stung him. Gone from 
his heart was that sense of peace. He understood 
now why Terry had not been invited to that con- 
ference. 

“Why,” he stammered again, “I thought that I — 

that I ” He could not go on. His voice 

choked. All his world seemed to have toppled over 
in a moment. He, the captain, and not in the first 
game of the season? 

“There’s no hurry,” Mr. Ferris said gently. “Sup- 
pose we let this go over until to-morrow.” 

Mechanically he stood up, and got his cap, and 
followed the man to the door. What was said 
there he did not know. He passed out into the 

83 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 

balmy, sweet-smelling spring night and turned to- 
ward home. Everything seemed unreal — the houses, 
the trees, the lights in the windows — everything 
except the fact that the coach thought that Fair- 
view's captain was not the boy to lead Fairview into 
its first game. 


CHAPTER IV 


BATTERY ERRORS 

W HEN Buddy reached home, Bob was sit- 
ting at the dining-room table reading a 
technical magazine. 

‘‘Hello!’' he said in surprise. ‘T thought you 
went to Mr. Ferris’s house to pick the team.” 

Buddy sank into a chair. “We did.” 

“You don’t look as though you had a happy 
time.” 

“Mr. Ferris does not think I ought to play.” 
Bob closed the magazine slowly and pushed it 
aside. “What did he say ?” 

So Buddy told what had happened. Bob began 
to drum on the table and to whistle under his 
breath. Presently he asked : 

“Well, what are you going to do?” 

“I — I don’t know,” Buddy answered helplessly. 
“Terry can outhit me. There’s no question of that. 

85 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 

But Oh, I don’t know what to do. Hitting 

isn’t everything.” 

“Mr. Ferris didn’t say you couldn’t play, did he?” 

“No; he couldn’t say that. I have the right to 

pick the team. But ” Buddy fell into a silence 

and stared across the room. 

“It isn’t that I want the glory of playing,” he 
said at last. “Of course. I’d like to play. Every 
fellow who came out for the team would like to 
play. I want to do what’s best for the team. But 
I’m captain. The team expects a captain to lead. 
The school expects it. That’s why captains have 
the final say as to who shall play. If this was any 

other game than the first You know what I 

mean. Bob?” 

“Yes,” said Bob. 

Once more Buddy was silent. Suppose Terry 
should play the same easy game behind the bat he 
had played as quarterback. Wouldn’t it be bet- 
ter for a team to have a leader who would give 
everything he had — everything? Of course he 
couldn’t say that to Mr. Ferris. It would sound like 
knocking. He couldn’t even say it to Bob. 

“If only this question hadn’t come up,” he told 

86 


BATTERY ERRORS 

himself wistfully. But it had come up, and it had 
to be met. 

He knew that sometimes a player will merely play 
the game in one sport, and throw himself heart and 
soul into another. He couldn’t sit still on the bench 
and watch Terry take things easy while Fairview 
fought for the county pennant. He couldn’t! It 
meant too much. If he was sure that a new Terry 
would go behind the bat, a Terry who would give 
just that extra ounce 

'T’d play him,” he muttered. 

'‘What’s that ?” Bob asked. "You’d play whom ?” 

"I was thinking,” said Buddy. His eyes met his 
brothers across the table. They stared at each 
other for one long, full minute. 

"What would you do. Bob?” Buddy asked in 
a low voice. 

"It’s your problem,” Bob said gently. "You’re 
the captain.” • 

Buddy went upstairs. Instead of going to bed he 
sat beside the window. It was his problem. Bob 
had refused to help solve it. Mr. Ferris had placed 
it squarely in his hands. Either he would lead 
Fairview or Terry would lead. The decision was 
his to make. 


87 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


He had a feeling that on that decision much de- 
pended. It seemed, somehow, that the whole fu- 
ture of the nine was involved. If he made a mis- 
take, it might affect the nine all season. He want- 
ed to do what was right — but what was right ? 

As he sat there, he remembered that day in the 
locker room when the coach had spoken of service. 
He remembered the exact words : “To do the right 
thing even though it hurts; to step aside because it 
seems best.’’ 

“But is it best?” Buddy asked himself miserably. 
“I know Terry’s better than me in some things. 
But look how he jumped on me for saying the fel- 
lows should play harder.” 

The memory of that argument was fresh in his 
mind. “What’s the difference?” Terry had argued; 
“good is good.” Buddy sighed. There was a dif- 
ference. Good could never be good enough while 
there was a chance for it to be better. 

He arose from his place and began to undress. 
His mind was made up at last. He would play ! 

He went to bed determined to tell Mr. Ferris the 
first thing in the morning. But when morning came 
his resolution was sadly shaken. He put his books 
under his arm and walked slowly to school. 

88 


BATTERY ERRORS 

He met Mr. Ferris in the main corridor. The 
coach was on his way to the principal’s office. 

‘‘Hello, Buddy !” he greeted. There was nothing 
to indicate that anything out of the ordinary had 
happened last night. 

Buddy had it on his tongue to say what was on 
his mind. Somehow, the words would not come. 
They chatted a moment. Mr. Ferris glanced at his 
watch, said he’d have to hurry, and disappeared into 
Dr. Minor’s office. Buddy went upstairs. 

“Who’ll pitch the opener?” Schuyler Arch whis- 
pered as they met. “Vanelli?” 

Buddy nodded. 

“Saddle River won’t touch him,” Schuyler pre- 
dicted. “Got the whole team picked ?” 

Buddy nodded once more. 

“Better post it,” Schuyler advised. “The squad 
is getting restless.” 

Buddy knew that. It had been apparent during 
yesterday’s practice. He could have gone into the 
locker room and have posted the line-up that min- 
ute, but first he wanted to tell the coach. He went 
to his class-room hesitatingly, as though some- 
thing whispered to him to turn back and annoimce 
his intention without delay. 

89 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


At noon he saw Mr. Ferris again — and again 
the words would not come. He had no appetite for 
his dinner. He returned to school hoping he would 
meet the coach, and glad that he had not. And so the 
afternoon passed, and classes at length were over. 

Buddy came out into the corridor. Near the 
stairs Mr. Ferris was waiting. 

‘We must post that batting order to-day,” the 
man said gently. 

The captain flushed. All at once he felt like a boy 
who had tried to run away and who had at last 
been cornered. 

“I — I'm going to catch,” he said. 

It was out now — at last. He wondered if the 
coach would try to change his mind. To his sur- 
prise, Mr. Ferris made no comment. 

“Suppose we get a line-up typewritten ?” he 
asked. “That will look more business-like. It 
won't take but a moment.” 

Buddy, waiting in the hall, heard the clatter of 
typewriter keys. Presently Mr. Ferris came back. 
Across the paper was typed in capital letters : 

THE FOLLOWING PLAYERS WILL REPRESENT 
FAIRVIEW IN THE GAME AGAINST 
SADDLE RIVER. 


90 


BATTERY ERRORS 


They walked downstairs. Buddy was sorely 
troubled. What did Mr. Ferris think of him? He 
wanted the coach to understand that he wasn’t try- 
ing to squeeze into the limelight. 

‘T — I think it’s my duty to catch,” he began. 

«j fy 

'Tt’s all right, Buddy,” Mr. Ferris interrupted. 
“You’re the captain. You don’t have to explain.” 

And then they were in the locker-room. 

Buddy was sure that Mr. Ferris was disappointed 
in him. He walked to the announcement board, 
posted the notice, and abruptly turned toward his 
own locker. 

A silence fell over the room. All around him he 
could feel a dramatic tension. There it was, the 
fate of the squad, and yet not a boy moved toward 
it. No one, apparently, wanted to show too much 
anxiety. 

“Gentlemen,” a deep voice called, “step forward 
and view the plums and the lemons.” 

That brought a shout of laughter. The tension 
snapped. There was a rush for the board. 

Buddy watched the squad covertly. Rood and 
Grant, catching each other by the arms, did a crazy 
dance down the room. 


91 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


‘We made it,” Grant cried. 

Other boys turned away disappointed. Vanelli, 
after a slow reading of the names, went on with his 
dressing as though there was nothing to get excited 
about. Buddy envied the pitcher his calmness. 

Terry had been lacing his shoes, and had not 
joined in the rush. When all the others had turned 
away, he walked forward. There was something 
dramatic in the fact that he was the last boy to ap- 
proach the board. Buddy felt a strange tightness 
in his throat. 

Terry whistled softly as he read the line-up. If 
he was chagrined not to find his own name there 
he did not show it. Still whistling, he got his glove 
and waited at the door for the others. 

Buddy made short work of getting into uniform. 
Now that he had made his choice, he was impatient 
to go into action. He felt that his judgment was 
on trial. He had elected to go contrary to the 
coach’s wishes. It was imperative that he prove that 
he had done the wise thing — and the only place to 
prove it was on the field. > 

The squad crowded upstairs in a body. Outdoors 
they split up into groups of twos and threes. Buddy 
found himself paired with Terry. He wondered if 
92 


BATTERY ERRORS 


the other boy had planned to walk with him, and 
if so what his purpose was. 

Buddy was no feather-weight, but alongside 
Terry he seemed dwarfed. His shoulders were 
wide, but Terry^s were wider. He was tall, but 
Terry was taller. Back in the old football days he 
had experienced a sense of inferiority. To-day he 
felt something of the same sensation. Even their 
shadows in the road seemed to emphasize Terry’s 
physical advantages. Of a sudden a word popped 
into Buddy’s mind. The word was “Outclassed,” 
and it made him wince. Perhaps — ^perhaps he should 
not be on that list. 

“How about Saddle River?” Terry asked. “Can 
she hit?” 

“She could last year,” Buddy answered. 

“She’ll find Vanelli tough picking, Terry went 
on. “He can’t be rattled. He’s a regular ice-house. 
Give him a two-run lead and you can count your 
game won.” • 

That was Buddy’s idea. He thought, too, that 
two runs should prove easy for the team that had 
been selected to battle for Fairview. But he made 
no comment on the line-up. That seemed a dan- 
gerous subject. 


93 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


They were in sight of the field now. Terry 
looked down at his glove and began to pluck at the 
stitches. 

“Sometimes,” he said slowly, “I think a catcher 
has the hardest job on the team. When the game 
is tight, and men are on the bases, and the pitcher 
is whipping them in, it — it keeps the catcher’s heart 
jumping and fluttering.” 

“You bet,” Buddy agreed. 

“Now there’s Van.” Terry cleared his throat. 
“He’s a tough man to handle in a pinch. When he 
really cuts loose, his ball has a hop that makes it 
just zip at you. If you’re not right up on your toes 

and ready for anything Say, I’m going to get 

out there and hit fungoes.” 

Terry ran out to the field and caught up a bat. 
Buddy walked on thoughtfully. Was Terry trying 
to warn him that perhaps he might not be able to 
hold the pitcher? Or was Terry just sore and try- 
ing to worry him? 

“No,” Buddy told himself honestly. “Terry 
wouldn’t do that.” Then Mr. Ferris called him, and 
he hurried off in answer to the summons. 

There was no game to-day, not even a five-inning 
battle with a scrub. Instead, the newly-formed 
94 


BATTERY ERRORS 


team stayed in the field, and the other boys of the 
squad went to bat and tried to work their way 
around the bases. Mr. Ferris explained that the 
work was intended to give the nine a chance to per- 
fect its defensive play and its defensive signals. 

Vanelli occupied the pitching mound for the first 
fifteen minutes. Buddy, behind the bat, hoped he 
would cut loose his best if only for one pitch. But 
Vanelli contented himself with serving the ball with 
nominal speed. When his time was up he gave way 
to Schuyler Arch, buttoned a sweater, and disap- 
peared up the street leading toward the school. 

Another pitcher. Buddy thought, would be greatly 
excited at the prospect of pitching the opening game 
of a league season. Van was surely a queer one. 
He would probably go back to the locker-room, 
dress, and then sit on a bench and study until the 
squad got back. Maybe he did have a vicious curve 
that he used only when hard pressed in a real game. 
If that were so, how should Terry know about it? 
Terry had never seen him in a real game. 

'^Sleeping, Buddy!” Mr. Ferris called. 

The captain, with a start, saw that one of the sec- 
ond string boys had made a clean steal of third base. 
Thereafter he paid attention to his game. Two 
95 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 

other base-runners, presuming on that one lapse, 
took too big a lead off first base and were nipped by 
quick throws. Buddy refused to be caught napping 
twice. 

When it was all over, Mr. Ferris joined him. 
‘‘What was the matter, Bud ? That was a bad one.'’ 

“I was thinking,” Buddy answered. 

“About what?” 

“About something Terry said to me.” 

The coach looked up quickly. “To-day?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Mr. Ferris’s face clouded. Just then Terry came 
along swinging his glove the way he used to swing 
his nose guard. 

“Hello, coach,” he called genially. “Hello, Bud. 
That was nice throwing.” 

Mr. Ferris’s face lost its anxiety. Whatever had 
been said, the two catchers had not quarreled. 

The locker-room that afternoon was a bedlam of 
excited shouting. Buddy was all on edge for the 
morrow’s game. He remembered how last year, 
and the year before that, the whole school had been 
baseball crazy the night before the opening of the 
league season. He wanted to talk baseball with the 
squad. But the lockers of the players were scat- 
96 


BATTERY «:RR0RS 

tered ; and besides, baseball merely divided attention 
now instead of holding all interests. The track team 
had done something wonderful that day, too — what 
it was he could not catch — and track team boys 
wanted to talk only their sport. The tennis candi- 
dates were all on fire, for they had just received 
permission to use the courts of the Fairview Tennis 
Club. For all that the tennis and the track team 
boys seemed to care, to-morrow might have been 
the middle of January instead of the start of base- 
ball. 

Buddy walked home alone. Now, as never be- 
fore, he felt the bigness of the school — its divided 
interests and its scattered energies. Why, there had 
been a time when everybody had a complete grasp 
of everything that was happening at Fairview. 
Times had indeed changed. You could not even 
keep track of what was going on in your own squad. 
He was leader of the nine. He was to catch the 
first game. For all of that, another player had 
warned him that the pitcher he was to catch had a 
delivery of which he was wholly in the dark. 

Terry had said, ^‘Van’s ball takes a hop that just 
makes it zip at you.” Buddy shook his head impa- 
tiently. He had caught Vanelli in practice battles. 
97 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 

He had never seen any tremendous change in Van’s 
delivery. And yet, wasn’t it just possible that quiet, 
slow-moving Van might have something in reserve, 
something he held for use in supreme moments? 

But how would Terry know? 

The question was too big for Buddy. He told 
himself that he’d forget it, and catch his game just 
as he had caught other games. But the ghost of 
the problem kept rising in his thoughts all during 
the hours before bed-time, and it was the first thing 
that popped into his mind when he opened his eyes 
in the morning. 

It was a glorious day for baseball. Under the 
stimulus of the sunshine and a balmy southwest 
wind. Buddy succeeded in banishing his fears. He 
hurried to school. Somebody told him that Mr. 
Ferris had gone to the village field with several boys, 
and he turned his footsteps in that direction. 

The coach was driving stakes into the ground in 
back of the first- and third-base lines, and running 
ropes from stick to stick. 

‘‘Hello, Bud !” he called. “We’re getting ready to 
handle the crowd.” 

Buddy’s heart jumped. A few more hours and 
that field, now almost deserted, would echo to Fair- 
98 


BATTERY ERRORS 


view's cheers or be dreary with Fairview's dejection. 

The work was soon completed. Mr. Ferris 
glanced at his watch. 

‘‘No hurry, fellows. Ten minutes before the first 
bell. Going back, Buddy?" 

The captain nodded. The coach fell into step 
with him, and asked: 

“How did you sleep last night?" 

“All right, sir." 

“No dreams about scalping tourists from Saddle 
River?" 

Buddy smiled. “No, sir; I just slept." 

“Good boy. That's the spirit. Worrying about a 
game never helps." 

Buddy wanted to say that he had worried about 
curves that took a hop and came at you with a zip. 
However, having taken the responsibility of placing 
himself in the line-up, he felt that he could not very 
well fish for encouragement. 

He would not have a study period with Mr. Ferris 
that day. When they entered the school building, 
the coach stopped short and put out his hand. 

“Let's shake. Buddy." 

“On what, sir ?" 

“On good luck to Fairview.” 

99 


FIGHTING* FOR FAIRVIEW 

They shook hands gravely. Buddy hurried up to 
his room. His eyes held a strange moisture. What 
a prince Mr. Ferris was! He had practically re- 
fused to follow advice, and yet Mr. Ferris fnet him 
on terms of the same old friendly intimacy. 

‘‘Maybe,’’ Buddy told himself wistfully, “maybe 
he’ll understand when he sees how hard I’m trying.” 
If Mr. Ferris would understand, nothing else would 
matter — ^much. 

At noon the school began to take notice of what 
was to happen that afternoon. The track candi- 
dates voted to abandon practice for the day and go 
to the game, and posted a notice to that effect. 
When classes reassembled, school flags were much 
in evidence. 

Schuyler Arch, his cheeks flushed, paused at 
Buddy’s desk. “This is like old times, isn’t it?” 

The captain nodded. Yes; this was like the old 
Fairview. He wondered if the tennis team would 
cut its practice, too. 

As soon as classes ended, the baseball players 
made a dash for the locker room. They were scram- 
bling into their uniforms when Mr. Ferris’s voice 
sounded from the doorway. 


lOO 


BATTERY ERRORS 


hurry, fellows. The field won’t run away. 
Take your time.” 

The presence of the coach calmed their nerves. 
Several of the fellows laughed and joked. When 
the last lace was tied and the last belt adjusted, the 
Saddle River boys arrived. Mr. Ferris assigned 
them to a group of idle lockers. Fairview’s war- 
riors went out casting back appraising glances, and 
receiving appraising glances in return. 

Mr. Ferris remained behind a moment to chat 
with the Saddle River coach. Again to-day. Buddy 
found himself walking toward the field with Terry 
McCarthy. He had an idea that Terry wanted to 
say something to him. But not a word was spoken 
until they were almost at the bench, and then Terry 
called a sudden, gruff, ‘‘Good luck,” and went up 
behind the plate. 

Schuyler Arch began to pitch. The team took 
turns hitting. Each player, as he took his third rap 
at the ball, scooted out to his place in the field. 
Soon the Saddle River boys straggled into view. 
Buddy signaled to Vanelli. The pitcher calmly 
arose from his place on the bench. 

With the first pitch of the warm-up Buddy’s heart 
skipped a beat. By and by Vanelli increased his 


lOI 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


speed, but at no time did the ball come with a zip 
that made it difficult to handle. Little by little 
Buddy^s nervousness wore off. Perhaps Terry had 
not intended his words as a warning at all. Cer- 
tainly Van had shown nothing that should make 
his own catcher quake. Of course he had a won- 
derful control 

Buddy held the glove high and to the right. 
Smack! The ball was there. He placed the target 
low and to the left. Again the ball came true. 

“Pretty work,'* he crooned; “pretty work, Van.’’ 

The pitcher smiled soberly and signaled that he 
had had enough. Buddy walked to the bench. 

“Nothing wrong with that control,” said Mr. 
Ferris. 

4 

“They won’t touch him,” said Buddy. 

Saddle River didn’t — not for the first three in- 
nings anyway. 

Meanwhile, Fairview had scored three precious 
runs, and the first Saddle River pitcher had been 
driven from the mound. The tallies had come in 
the second inning. Lewis had been thrown out, but 
Baxter had bounced a hit off the pitcher’s shins. 
Daly had secured a base on balls, and Buddy had 
come to bat with two on the bases. 


102 


BATTERY ERRORS 


He wanted to hit. He thought it would be a won- 
derful incentive for the nine if the captain should, 
on his first opportunity, come through with a safe 
blow in the pinch. But his best was a tap along 
the first-base line. He ran with all his strength, only 
to hear the slap of the ball in a glove while the bag 
was a step away. 

'‘Out!” called the umpire. 

Anyway, Baxter was on third and Daly was on 
second. He ran back toward the bench and made 
a megaphone of his hands. 

“Hit it. Van! Hit it!” Then he flushed. Why 
hadn't he hit it? He saw Terry and Mr. Ferris 
watching the game with puckered eyes — Terry, the 
best hitter on the team. He wondered if Mr. Fer- 
ris had wished that it was Terry who had gone to 
bat, and then was angry at himself for having en- 
tertained the thought. 

Vanelli was an exception to the rule that pitchers 
are poor batsmen. He slashed the first ball pitched 
for two bases. Baxter and Daly scored. Rood fol- 
lowed with a single and the third run was in. 

“Well, now,” said Mr. Ferris genially, “that isn't 
so bad. Bud.” 

There it was again, the old tone of comradeship. 

103 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


Buddy forgot his chagrin. He grinned broadly as 
a new pitcher came to the mound — and then the 
grin faded as Meyers struck out on three pitched 
balls. 

Since then it had been a battle. Neither team 
had got a runner as far as second base. 

The fourth inning passed, and the fifth. In the 
sixth, the first Saddle River batter hit sharply to 
Rood, and Rood fumbled. The next boy sacrificed. 
For the first time since the start of the game Saddle 
River had a chance to score. 

Buddy’s muscles twitched. Terry had said that 
when runners were on the bases and the pitcher was 

boring them in A fear that he had forgotten 

was born again. If Vanelli did carry an extra 
ounce of steam, this was the time to call it into play. 
Buddy braced himself for the shock of a vicious 
curve. 

But Van, though he used greater speed, did not 
get any keener break to his curve. Buddy found no 
difficulty in holding his delivery. 

The batter struck out. 

‘Two down,” the infielders shouted one to an- 
other. “Play the batter.” 

Vanelli slackened. The next boy hit a roller right 
104 


BATTERY ERRORS 


to Rood, and Rood, for the second time that inning, 
made an inexcusable error. Saddle River scored 
her. first run. 

Buddy bit his lips. Rood was standing near the 
second-base bag with his hands folded waiting for 
play to be resumed. Van, as unconcerned as though 
he was receiving perfect support, took the ball and 
faced the plate. A moment later he saw Buddy’s 
fingers, and whirled and threw to first. The boy 
who had hit that disastrous roller was caught flat- 
footed for the third out. 

Rood came in to the bench, winked at one of the 
substitutes, and sat down. ‘T guess Fve got them 
all out of my system,” he said. 

‘'Let’s hope so,” said Mr. Ferris. 

There was just the suspicion of something hard 
in the coach’s usually quiet voice. Rood flushed. 
Buddy’s eyes snapped. The night he had protested 
against the way the squad seemed to be content 
with its own playing. Rood was one of the players 
he had in mind. That night Mr. Ferris had made 
no comment. Now, though 

"You’re up. Buddy,” called the scorer. 

Buddy went to the plate, and was thrown out on 
a rap to the shortstop. Thus far he had not hit the 

105 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 

ball out of the infield. However, he had one con- 
solation — his catching had been all right. He had 
justified his own selection. 

Neither side scored in the seventh. It looked as 
though Saddle River would not score in the eighth, 
either. Her first batter struck out, and the first 
two balls served to the second batter were called 
strikes. Vanelli appeared to have the game in the 
hollow of his hands. 

‘‘Just one more. Van,'’ Buddy called briskly. 

Van threw — and the batter hit over Meyers' head, 
in center field, for three bases. 

If Saddle River scored another run she would 
be dangerously close. The infield came in on the 
grass to try to prevent the runner on third scoring. 
Buddy, crouched behind the batter, signaled for an 
in. 

Somehow, it seemed, the easy-going Vanelli had 
changed. He was like a man who had gathered 
himself for a mighty effort. His whole body ap- 
peared to get behind the pitch. 

A strange sound came from Buddy’s throat. The 
ball was almost a flying speck. It struck the end 
of his glove, bounced, and his blood almost froze. 

“Behind you!” roared Lewis, the first-baseman. 
io6 


BATTERY ERRORS 

Buddy saw the ball rolling only a few feet away. 
In a moment he had it. The boy on third had not 
tried to score. He threw to Vanelli who had run 
down to guard the plate. 

Every nerve was trembling. His left hand, inside 
the big mitt, was damp with sweat. Van had thrown 
him a curve that had come at him with a blinding 
zip. He had never caught fast pitching like that. 
That confidence that he had built up during the 
game suddenly went to smash. 

Again Vanelli pitched. This time the batter hit. 

‘‘Mine!’’ Daly yelled. 

The third-baseman caught the ball in foul terri- 
tory. Buddy, breathing hard, was glad of a mo- 
ment’s rest. Over and over a question ran through 
his brain. How did Terry know that Van had a 
curve like that? 

Two were out. The hardest hitter on the Saddle 
River team was at bat. Buddy, watching his pitcher, 
drew a deep breath. Van had no intention of slack- 
ing steam — not at this stage of the game with a run- 
ner on third. 

The ball came in with that zipping, smashing 
break. Buddy held it. The next was a floater, and 
107 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 

the batter wisely let it go past. Then came another 
scorching curve. 

The batter bunted. Buddy heard a cry from the 
spectators, but it was a moment before he saw the 
ball rolling gently a few feet away. That moment 
was fatal. He had been caught off guard. The boy 
on third slid home with Saddle River’s second run, 
and the batter was safe on first. 

Buddy walked down toward Vanelli with the ball. 

‘Watch yourself,” said Van. “We can’t afford 
to give away runs.” 

The next batter hit the first ball toward Rood. 
The second-baseman made a perfect play this time, 
and the side was out. 

Buddy caught a fleeting glimpse of Terry’s face, 
and fancied he saw there an “I knew it” look. He 
took a place on the bench and did not say a word 
until the ninth inning began. Suddenly, as he buck- 
led on his chest protector, he could have kicked him- 
self. He had come into the game because of his 
belief that a captain should lead and inspire the 
team. What kind of inspiration was it for a cap- 
tain to sit gloomily on the bench wrapped in his 
own dark thoughts? 

This was Saddle River’s last turn at bat, and he 
io8 



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f-T' 


BATTERY ERRORS 


hoped sincerely that she would not get a runner 
on. The baseball fates ruled otherwise. The first 
batter beat out a hit to Daly, the next boy sacri- 
ficed, and then, with danger threatening, Vanelli 
once more pitched with all he had. Buddy^s lips 
thinned and his eyes grew hard with desperate reso- 
lution. 

High and low, out and in. Van's curves snapped. 
He held them, held them, held them — and all the 
while chills ran up and down his back. 

A Saddle River boy got his base on balls. An- 
other Saddle River boy hit a fielder’s choice and 
was thrown out. The other runners each advanced 
a base. The situation was tense. Two out, run- 
ners on second and third, and only one run needed 
to tie. 

Vanelli seemed to rise to even greater heights of 
skill. The ball flashed in and broke. Buddy’s fran- 
tic glove stopped it, and it fell dead at his feet. 

“Strike one !” the umpire ruled. 

Buddy signaled for a high “in.” He saw the ball 
start and judged where it would break. His glove 
went up. He felt a swish of air past his hands and 
he knew, in one sickening instant, that he had missed 
the pitch entirely. 

109 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


There was a wooden back-stop twelve feet in the 
rear. The ball hit the planks and bounced to one 
side. In a frenzy of speed Buddy ran for it. There 
wasn't a chance that he could stop the tying run, 
but perhaps he could stop the tally that would put 
Saddle River in the lead. His fingers closed on 
the ball. He whirled about to throw. 

‘'Hold it!" Vanelli’s voice came angrily. “You're 
too late." When the ball was tossed to him, he 
snapped it with a downward toss of his glove. He 
was plainly disgusted. When the next batter faced 
him, he threw a straight pitch straight across the 
heart of the plate. The batter hit a long fly to the 
outfield, and Meyers made a nice running catch for 
the third out. 

The score was Saddle River, 4; Fairview, 3. 

As Buddy came to the bench he heard somebody 
whisper, “They shouldn't have scored a run." Mr. 
Ferris made room for him. 

“Too bad. Buddy," the coach said simply, and 
leaned over to look at the score-book. 

“Tough luck," said Terry. 

Buddy knew he should be out coaching, exhort- 
ing the team to make a last effort. His courage 
sank. What license did he have to try to inspire 


no 


BATTERY ERRORS 


others — he who had thrown the game away? And 
then came another thought. What kind of captain 
would he be if he shirked just because the going 
was hard? 

He jumped up and strode out toward the first- 
base coaching box. Without looking around he 
knew that Terry was staring at him, and his cheeks 
burned. He thought that Mr. Ferris was watching 
him, too. 

The team was beaten. He saw that, even while 
he kept urging a rally. Grant popped a listless fly to 
the shortstop, and Walters fouled out. Lewis did 
not even try to half run out a hit to the pitcher. 
The game was over, and Fairview had lost. His 
team was beaten. 

Buddy came back to the bench and gathered up 
his things — glove, sweater, and chest protector. 
The spectators were melting away. The players 
were already walking back toward the locker-room. 
Terry McCarthy was with Rood. 

'Wait,” Mr. Ferris called; "Fll be with you in a 
moment.” 

Buddy halted, but his eyes did not leave the figure 
of the boy ahead. Terry was swinging his glove 


III 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


with that way he had, and his careless, easy stride 
seemed to breathe power and confidence. Somehow, 
as he stood there in the bitterness of failure. Buddy 
knew that Terry McCarthy would not have let that 
fatal ball get by. 


CHAPTER V 


LOCKER-ROOM GOSSIP 

B uddy knew now, when it was too late, that 
Mr. Ferris had been right. He should not 
have played. It was not a captain to lead 
that the nine had wanted, but rather a catcher who 
could hold up Vanelli. 

Mr. Ferris had known that the pitcher would be 
too strong for him. If the coach had explained 
that — He shook his head. No; he would prob- 
ably have questioned the judgment. He would 
have debated how even Mr. Ferris could tell with- 
out having first put him to the test. And he would 
still have argued that, in the opening game at least, 
a captain's place was to lead. That was the reason- 
ing that had wrecked him. 

He saw, too, that Mr. Ferris had known he would 
make this argument. That was what had lain be- 
hind the coach's words that day in the locker-room 
— to do the right thing even though it hurt ; to stand 
aside because it seemed best. 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


But it had not seemed best. He thought he had 
chosen the better course. 

“All right, Buddy, Mr. Ferris said at his elbow. 

He braced himself. He expected the coach to 
say that he had better listen to reason in the future. 
Instead, Mr. Ferris told him that there was good 
stuff in the nine, and that one game does not make 
a season, and that sometimes — sometnnes — defeat 
is not the worst thing that can happen. 

Buddy wondered what that meant. However, he 
had other things to think about just then. Mr. 
Ferris, he saw, did not intend to chide him for his 
mistake. A warm glow ran through his veins. He 
wanted to explain, to set himself right ; and yet, now 
that the game was lost, he knew that there was no 
explanation he could make. Anything he should 
say would sound like trying to crawl from under. 
But oh! how he wanted the man at his side to 
understand that he had done what he thought was 
right. 

The desire to say something became overpower- 
ing. At the head of the locker-room stairs he 
paused. 

“Mr. Ferris.*’ 

“Yes.” 


LOCKER-ROOM GOSSIP 

‘‘I — I^m sorry/’ He ran down the stairs to his 
locker. 

The nine was seemingly not one whit cast down 
by the afternoon’s events. There was shouting, and 
laughing, and plenty of rough playing. Even 
Vanelli seemed to have recovered from his sulks. 
Saddle River, rejoicing in victory, was scarcely any 
more boisterous than Fairview. 

‘‘Mighty queer stunt, isn’t it?” said a voice. 

Buddy looked up to find Schuyler Arch at his 
elbow. The pitcher nodded in the general direc- 
tion of the room. 

“I mean our nine,” he explained. “Bring some- 
body in here who hadn’t seen the game and he 
wouldn’t know which team had won. Our gang 
seems to be almost as happy as the other fellows.” 

“You can’t tell how they feel,” said Buddy. He 
did not want to admit that anything might be wrong 
with Fairview’s morale. 

“No,” said Schuyler. He fashioned his four- 
in-hand and ran the knot snugly into place. 
“Funny how Neale, and McMasters, and Pilgrim 
and Hill used to grouch last year over a lost game. 
We knew how they felt.” He went back to close 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 

his locker, and Buddy was left to chew on a new 
thought. 

Of course, you couldn’t tell about a team by the 
way it acted after a game — not altogether. Some 
players laughed just to hide the hurt. Neverthe- 
less, he thought wistfully, he would like to see the 
team a little quieter, a little inclined to quarrel and 
snap, and a little given to talking dangerously about 
what would happen next time. 

That night he gave Bob an honest story of the 
defeat. *T should not have played,” he said. 

‘‘Did Mr. Ferris tell you that?” Bob asked 
quickly. 

“No; I know it.” 

Bob smiled, and opened a book. Later, as Buddy 
started upstairs to study, he looked up from the 
page. 

“Bud! I wouldn’t worry about that game if I 
were you. There are seventeen games left; and 
besides, it’s all right.” 

Buddy couldn’t see that. It seemed to be all 
wrong. He, the captain, had thrown the game 
away. Nevertheless, before bed-time he found him- 
self taking comfort in what his brother had said. 

Next morning the returns were in from the other 
ii6 


LOCKER-ROOM GOSSIP 


games played in the county league. Irontown had 
won from Pompton, Lackawanna had defeated 
Bloomfield, Garrison had defeated Gates, and Has- 
brouck had taken Brunswick's measure by the lop- 
sided score of 8 to o. 

Buddy posted the first standing of the teams: 


Irontown . . 

W L 

I 0 

PC. 

1. 000 

Pompton . . 

W L 

0 I 

PC. 

.000 

Saddle Riv. 

I 

0 

1. 000 

Fairview . . 

0 

I 

.000 

Hasbrouck . 

I 

0 

1. 000 

Brunswick . 

0 

I 

.000 

Lackawanna 

I 

0 

1. 000 

Bloomfield . 

0 

I 

.000 

Garrison . . 

I 

0 

1. 000 

Gates 

0 

I 

.000 


Very little attention was paid to the score-board. 
The tennis team went about its own business, and 
the track team was once more concerned with its 
own affairs. Buddy was growing used to this. He 
could not very well find fault if track and tennis 
enthusiasts paid very little attention to baseball 
when his own players paid very little attention to 
track and tennis. 

But he would never grow used, he thought, to the 
baseball squad skylarking after a defeat. That was 
contrary to all his notions. 

117 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 

Lewises locker was next to his. While he donned 
his uniform that afternoon the first-baseman asked 
curiously : 

“Aren’t there any enclosed grounds in this 
league ?” 

“No; why?” 

“Oh, nothing; I was just wondering. Seems 
funny not to find one enclosed field.” 

Buddy went on with his dressing. All at once 
he looked up. 

“Were you used to enclosed fields before you 
came here?” 

“Sure! So were lots of the others. Why, we 
used to get about 3,000 rooters out at our important 
games. That’s the reason it seemed funny — ^you 
know, just open lots and a few hundred spectators.” 

“I wouldn’t call it funny,” Buddy said slowly. 

Lewis gave an embarrassed laugh. “Oh, I don’t 
mean funny in that sense.” 

Buddy went out to the practice a bit glum. He 
had suddenly recalled something he had read more 
than a year ago. “Sling” Logan, once the star 
catcher of the National League, had joined a team 
in the State League. Everybody had thought the 
pennant would surely be won with “Sling” in the 
118 


LOCKER-ROOM GOSSIP 


line-up. But after a few months ‘‘Sling’^ had been 
released, and rumor said that the former big 
leaguer could not forget that he had once been a 
big league man. 

Now, if the same sort of bug began to bite play- 
ers like Lewis and Rood; if they thought themselves 
a little bigger than Fairview’s little county 
league 

“Oh, rats!” Buddy told himself in disgust. “I 
can think up more worries than any fellow in school. 
The team is just naturally easy-going. That won^t 
last. Mr. Ferris wouldn’t put up with it. Look 
how he jumped on Rood yesterday.” 

So he threw himself into the practice, resolved 
that Fairview should work itself into trim for its 
game Saturday against Brunswick. The team, 
however, did not seem to be inclined to strain itself 
hustling. The playing was good, but not — not — 
Oh, not what it should have been. Once Mr. Fer- 
ris batted the ball to Walters, the shortstop; and 
Walters, scooping it up near the second base, made 
one of those quick, underhand tosses to Rood for 
the start of a double play, short to second to first. 

Rood muffed the toss. Walters was only four 
feet away. Rood knocked the ball back. Walters 
119 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


returned it. Laughing, they batted it back and 
forth with their gloved hands. 

Buddy, catching at the plate, took a step forward. 
'"Come on, fellows,” he cried; ''play ball.” 

"Huh!” scoffed Walters in an undertone; "that’s 
a nice crack, isn’t it? Why didn’t he play ball 
yesterday?” 

They separated, still laughing back at each other. 
Mr. Ferris walked from the first-base coaching box 
out onto the diamond. 

"I like a laugh, too,” he said pleasantly. "Let’s 
in on the joke.” 

"There’s no joke,” said Walters. 

"Oh!” Mr. Ferris turned away. "I thought 
perhaps there was.” 

That settled horseplay for that day. 

Buddy’s blood tingled. In everything he did, 
Mr. Ferris stood squarely behind him. He had 
never complained about any of the players, he had 
never begged for support. After the game they 
would probably not mention to-day’s incident. 
And yet at all times the coach seemed to understand. 

When the day’s work ended. Buddy and Mr. 
Ferris walked back together. The late afternoon 


120 


LOCKER-ROOM GOSSIP 


was fragrant with the bloom of spring, and they 
were in no hurry. 

‘We had better announce the line-up that will 
face Brunswick,’’ said the coach. 

Buddy nodded. To-morrow was Friday, and 
Saturday there would be no school. Yes; it would 
be best to post the line-up without delay. 

“We’ll play the same team in the field, won’t 
we?” he asked. 

“Yes,” said Mr. Ferris. 

“I — I’m going to put Terry behind the bat.” 

“That leaves only the pitcher,” Mr. Ferris said 
in a matter of fact voice. 

Buddy turned away his head lest his face betray 
his emotion. Did ever a captain have a more con- 
siderate coach? 

“Shall we pitch Schuyler?” he asked, still looking 
away. 

“No,” said Mr. Ferris; “O’Rourke.” 

At that Buddy swung around quickly. He had 
reckoned Schuyler Arch second only to Vanelli. 
Was he mistaken in this, too ? 

“We shouldn’t need Schuyler this time,” Mr. 
Ferris explained. “Brunswick was beaten yester- 
day 8 to o. I understand she didn’t hit three balls 

I2I 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


out of the infield. Why not use O’Rourke and 
save Schuyler for the next game?” 

“Then you figure we’ll win?” Buddy asked 
eagerly. 

“We ought to,” said Mr. Ferris. 

The Brunswick line-up was posted next after- 
noon. Walters and Lewis read it, and went over 
to Terry McCarthy and began to whisper and to 
laugh. 

“Cut it out,” Terry said sharply. 

Buddy pretended that he had not heard, but his 
face went red. What were they doing, making 
sport of his failure against Saddle River? 

Ever since the start of the season he had been 
swayed by strange moods that he had not been 
able to analyze. He had not felt at home in his 
job as he had felt in other years. Of all the team, 
Schuyler was the only player with whom he had 
felt himself on equal, intimate terms. Now the 
meaning of those moods came to him suddenly. 
This year’s team was made up of boys who were 
older than he, and who boasted more experience. 
He was the captain, but they had him at a disad- 
vantage. 

“I’ll show them,’” Buddy vowed angrily. The 


122 


LOCKER-ROOM GOSSIP 


whispers and the laughter had stung him. Age 
had nothing to do with it. As leader, he was en- 
titled to their support. He’d show them who was 
master. 

When the team took the field, instead of catch- 
ing, he went to the third-base coaching box. Mr. 
Ferris batted grounders from the plate. Buddy 
watched grimly, and soon Daly dropped a throw. 

‘Tick it up,” he cried; “lively, there.” 

Daly gave him a surprised look and sprang after 
the ball. 

Next Lewis fumbled a grounder. Buddy’s 
voice carried across the diamond: 

“Come on; after it. It won’t bite you.” 

Lewis got the ball and threw home viciously. 

Buddy saw Mr. Ferris give him a surprised look. 
That look brought him to his senses. He saw that 
instead of being spurred to harder work, the in- 
fielders were becoming sulky. Walters purposely 
muffed the ball and walked after it with exagger- 
ated slowness. 

It had been a mistake to lose his temper. His 
own feelings did not count, or what was thought of 
him, or what was said. Besides, perhaps Walters 
and Lewis had not been talking about him. Any- 
123 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


way, his job was to do what was best for the team. 
Abruptly he turned away and walked to the plate. 

“Fll catch, Terry,’’ he said. 

At once it became apparent to him that the in- 
fielders were going to give him a rough time. 
Whenever the ball was thrown to him, it came too 
low, too high, or too far on either side. The plays 
he had to make were all hard. He was kept con- 
stantly on the jump. 

He did not make the mistake of losing his temper 
again nor did he complain. If a bad throw came 
to him in a game he would have to play it and not 
stand and argue. He followed that system now. 
Three times the ball got past and he chased it 
himself without waiting for an idle substitute to do 
the retrieving. If he wanted the team to work 
harder, the real thing to do was to show that he 
was not above hard work himself. 

Gradually his punishment lessened. At last it 
ceased. He had the feeling that a dangerous situ- 
ation had been saved. The players, he knew, would 
respect him for taking the gaff without a murmur. 

‘That’s better, Buddy,” Mr. Ferris said in a low 
tone. 

The blood ran into his cheeks. For just those 
124 


LOCKER-ROOM GOSSIP 

three words he would have taken his punishment all 
over again. 

Afterwards, the coach did not ask him for an 
explanation. Perhaps the man understood. At 
least Buddy thought so. Mr. Ferris seemed to 
know and to understand so much. 

The players brought back to the locker-room no 
sign of their ill-feeling. Two or three of the boys, 
catching Buddy’s eye, even offered a sidelong grin, 
but whether this signified amusement or comrade- 
ship Buddy did not know. He walked home that 
afternoon with Schuyler Arch. 

“My eye!” said the pitcher, “but you certainly 
did light into them, and they surely did light into 
you.” 

Buddy said nothing. 

“I bet they’ll play snappy ball to-morrow,” 
Schuyler added. 

They didn’t. They played — just ball. 

The game showed that Mr. Ferris had made no 
mistake in rating Brunswick. O’Rourke, the least 
skilled of Fairview’s pitchers, had no trouble hold- 
ing the enemy scoreless for the first six innings. 
During that same period Fairview heavy hitting 

125 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


scored eight runs — three in the second, two in the 
fourth, and three more in the fifth. 

But Buddy was far from satisfied. He thought 
that more runs should have been scored in the sec- 
ond inning, and that at least one run had been 
thrown away in the fifth. He did not want to pile 
up a score just to rub defeat into Brunswick. 
What he objected to was a team that grew lax and 
failed to take advantage of its opportunities. 

Fairview’s seventh inning opened brightly. 
Walters, first up, hit a screaming liner to center- 
field, and slid safely into third base. Jumping up, 
he brushed the dust from his uniform. The 
moment the pitcher had the ball he edged off the 
base. The third-baseman edged off with him. 

“Nice hit,’’ said the third-baseman. 

Walters turned his head. “Sure it was. That’s 
how we do things when we ” 

An agonized cry from the coacher swung him 
around toward the bag. Even as he started to 
slide back, he saw a Brunswick boy standing there. 
The ball was jabbed against his knee. 

“Out !” ruled the umpire. 

While the third-baseman had engaged him in 
conversation, the shortstop had sneaked down to 
126 


LOCKER-ROOM GOSSIP 

the bag and the pitcher had made a quick throw. 
Walters laughed. 

‘‘Caught me nicely, . didn’t you ?” He walked 
back to the bench. “Oh, well,” he said there, 
“we’re eight runs ahead.” 

“We wouldn’t be,” said Mr. Ferris, “if the whole 
team played ball like that. Let’s see what you can 
do, Lewis.” 

Lewis singled. 

“A run gone,” said Mr. Ferris. 

Walters looked down at his hands as though 
impressed. The moment the coach’s glance turned 
toward the field, he made a wry, disdainful face. 

After yesterday’s experience Buddy knew that 
here was a team that could not be whipped into 
line. He bit his lips to keep back the hot words 
that trembled there. Last year’s Fairview team 
couldn’t hold a candle to this one in skill — but, oh ! 
what a difference in heart. 

Baxter bunted, and Lewis went to second. With 
one out, Daly hit the first ball pitched to the out- 
field. Without so much as a glance to see where the 
fly went, Lewis sprinted for home. 

Buddy jumped from the bench. “What’s the 
127 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


matter with him?** he cried. “That fly will be 
caught.** 

“He probably thinks two are out,** chuckled 
Grant, the right-fielder. 

Shouts of laughter from the Brunswick bench, 
and cries of “Bonehead** from the spectators, 
brought Lewis to his senses. He swung around 
to go back, but the fielder who had caught the 
ball had already thrown to second base. 

“Side’s out,** called the umpire. 

Lewis shrugged his shoulders and walked to his 
place at first base. When a Brunswick coacher 
twitted him, he grinned as though it were all a 
huge joke. From the spectators in back of the 
base came a sotto voce: “Bonehead.** Lewis even 
grinned at that. 

“What’s the odds?” he demanded; “it*s our 
game.” 

Buddy’s eyes grew hard. “Perry!” he called. 
Perry was the first-base substitute. Something in 
Mr. Ferris’s face stopped him, something that 
seemed to say “That’s not the way. Bud.” Perry, 
talking to a companion on the bench, had not heard 
him. He sighed, and leaned back, and Lewis was 
allowed to stay in the game. 

128 


LOCKER-ROOM GOSSIP 


What was the way, Buddy wondered, to handle 
this team? If he tried discipline, they fought him. 
When he failed they made it a matter for low 
voiced joking. Their own lapses were taken with 
a light spirit of don't care. They could play ball; 
there was no denying that. But they would not 
fight, and he could not kindle in them the fighting 
spark. He had the helpless feeling that came to 
him so often. 

When Brunswick's turn ended, the team came 
back to the bench. Lewis crowded in beside 
Walters, and the two whispered and laughed and 
cast sly glances at the coach. Without looking up, 
Mr. Ferris said: 

‘‘There was no excuse for that play, Lewis. 
Another break like that and you may not take it so 
cheerfully.” 

Lewis's laughter vanished, and he gave a quick 
look toward Perry. Perry, who had heard this 
time, got red in the face and became very self-con- 
scious. 

Buddy saw that this course was best. If he had 
taken Lewis off the bag the first-baseman would 
have sulked, and his friends on the team might have 
sided with him. Mr. Ferris's quiet threat would 
129 


I 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 

probably accomplish more. But — and now Buddy 
sighed again — if he had made that threat Lewis 
would have gone on whispering and nudging the 
moment his back was turned. 

The end of the game found Brunswick a shut-out 
victim. Buddy gathered up his things and started 
back for the locker-room alone. He had not gone 
far when Terry McCarthy, running a bit, overtook 
him. 

“O'Rourke pitched a nice game," Terry said. 

Buddy nodded. He wanted to say that others 
had played just the opposite of a nice game, but 
he held his peace. 

“He was scared stiff at the start," Terry went on, 
“and now he’s the happiest kid on the lot. It’s 
funny about a young pitcher’s first gd,me. If he 
wins he’s full of pep, and if nobody says much 
about the victory he begins to think he hasn’t done 
anything wonderful after all, and then the pep is 
gone. But if everybody pats him on the back a 
bit " 

Buddy stopped short. “Particularly his captain ?’* 
he asked. 

“Particularly his captain," Terry smiled. 

130 


LOCKER-ROOM GOSSIP 

Buddy walked back. This was what he got for 
thinking about his own troubles instead of thinking 
about the team. Well, if somebody did have to 
wake him up, he would rather it was Terry than 
Lewis or Walters or some of the others. 

Ten minutes later, when he came into the locker- 
room, O’Rourke was with him and O’Rourke’s eyes 
were shining. Buddy stopped in front of Terry’s 
locker. 

‘Thank you,” he said. ‘T should have known 
enough for that.” 

“Shucks!” Terry laughed. “I made the same 
mistake when I was captain at Dickinson.” 

“Oh! Were you captain there?” 

“Last year,” said Terry; and Buddy walked 
down to his own place. What sort of captain, he 
wondered, had Terry been? 

Monday morning the returns of all the games 
were in. A new standing of the clubs was posted : 


Irontown . . 

W L 

2 0 

PC. 

1. 000 

Garrison . . 

W L 

I I 

PC. 

.500 

Lackawanna 

2 

0 

1. 000 

Saddle Riv. 

I 

I 

.500 

Fairview . . 

I 

I 

.500 

Hasbrouck . 

I 

I 

.500 

Pompton . . 

I 

I 

.500 

Brunswick . 

0 

2 

.000 

Bloomfield . 

I 

I 

.500 

Gates 

0 

2 

.000 


131 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


The league standing created scarcely a ripple. 
Alongside of it was a notice that the track team 
would hold time trials that afternoon. When 
classes were over for the day, almost the whole 
school followed Captain Hurst's runners, vaulters, 
and jumpers. A bare dozen boys accompanied the 
nine to the village field. 

How different was this Fairview from the visions 
that Buddy had dreamed. 

Wednesday the team was to play Garrison. Not 
until Tuesday noon did Mr. Ferris mention line-up. 
Then: 

‘‘Suppose we try Schuyler to-morrow. Bud." 

Buddy nodded. His throat was dry. By rights 
he ought to catch, but after his showing against 
Saddle River perhaps the coach would prefer him 
on the bench. 

“You catch," Mr. Ferris went on. “Schuyler 
works far better with you than with Terry." 

He said a perfunctory, “All right, sir," but he 
felt like shouting. The moment he could get away 
he raced upstairs to Schuyler’s class-room. 

“You and me to-morrow," he said breathlessly. 

“We’ll show them how the old Fairview did it," 
Schuyler vowed. 


132 


LOCKER-ROOM GOSSIP 

Next day Garrison, coming to Fairview with 
visions of victory, was crushed. Buddy, for once, 
felt none of the helplessness that so often made 
him powerless. With Schuyler pitching, he was 
sure of himself. Twice he hit in the pinch. Four 
times he threw out base runners. On the bench he 
jostled the players, and called instructions as the 
team went to bat, and had his part in the laughter 
and the talk and the snappy banter. 

The final score was 7 to i. Fairview's whole 
game had been peppery. Buddy was more hopeful 
than he had been for days. Perhaps, after all, he 
had been wrong. Perhaps the team had been try- 
ing to find itself. Perhaps 

"‘We’ll see to-morrow,” he told himself. 

And next day the team slopped through a prac- 
tice session that did not have one single redeeming 
feature. Could this be the same team. Buddy won- 
dered in despair, that yesterday had beaten Gar- 
rison ? 

The returns from the third round of games had 
been slow in arriving. When Buddy reached the 
school, there were letters awaiting him from Gates 
and from Lackawanna. His list was now com- 
plete. He dressed quickly, and then sat on a bench 

133 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


and figured. Irontown, Bloomfield, Saddle River 
and Lackawanna had all won. The new league 
standing read : 


Irontown . . 

W L 

3 0 

PC. 

1. 000 

Pompton . . 

W L 

I 2 

PC. 

•333 

Lackawanna 

3 

0 

1. 000 

Hasbrouck . 

I 

2 

•333 

Fairview . . 

2 

I 

.666 

Garrison . . 

I 

2 

•333 

Bloomfield . 

2 

I 

.666 

Gates 

0 

3 

.000 

Saddle Riv. 

2 

I 

.666 

Brunswick . 

0 

3 

.000 


‘‘Anybody want to see this?'’ Buddy called^ 

Terry and a few others came over. 

“Where are we?” somebody asked from the rea*^ 
of the room. 

“Third,” Terry answered. 

No more of the players came forward to look at 
the standing. Buddy carried it upstairs and tacked 
it to the board. For the first time he began to 
question Fairview’s ability to make a good showing 
in the fight for the county pennant. Was it his 
fault? What could any captain do with a team 
that showed scant interest? 

It was with difficulty that he kept his mind on his 
books that night. The future seemed gloomy. 

134 



LOCKER-ROOM GOSSIP 

Saturday the team was to go to Lackawanna for its 
first game away from home. Vanelli would pitch 
and Terry would catch. It would be a good bat- 
tery, but good batteries alone cannot win games — 
not against teams like Lackawanna. So far Lacka- 
wanna had not suffered defeat. 

And, before the fifth inning ended Saturday, it 
was plain that this was to be another Lackawanna 
victory. Five of her players had crossed the plate. 
Only one Fairview boy had scored. 

It was a game that sent a choking lump into 
Buddy's throat. If the team would only fight! 
But it wouldn’t I It played its game, but it played 
so deadly, so mechanically. There were the usual 
group of infield lapses. Once Walters failed to 
cover second base on what should have been the 
start of a double play. Another time Daly, on an 
infield splash, stood undecided with the ball in his 
hands while Lackawanna runners sprinted about the 
bases. When he did throw everybody was safe. 
It was this brand of baseball that had given Lacka- 
wanna her five runs — this, and a dropped fly by 
Grant in right field. Vanelli’s pitching had been 
all he could ask. 

Grant had come in after his error looking pain- 
135 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


fully guilty. But the others had shown the same 
old lack of burning concern. They cared — oh, yes; 
after a fashion. But not in the way that had made 
past Fairview teams fight desperately to the last 
ditch. 

The final score was 7 to 3. The team moved off 
to the Lackawanna dressing-room. O’Rourke and 
Grant were silent and thoughtful. Most of the 
others went up the street friskily jumping over fire 
pumps they met on the way. 

Buddy and Mr. Ferris sat together on the way 
back to Fairview. The captain was sore with dis- 
appointment. Twice he opened his lips to com- 
plain of the team’s spirit, and twice he refrained. 
He could not forget what his own playing had been 
against Saddle River. What if the coach should 
think he was simply trying to make a big fellow 
of himself ? What if he should be told bluntly that 
as captain it was his job to make the team play 
ball? It was so easy to just complain; so hard to 
lead wisely and well. 

He looked up and caught Mr. Ferris’s eye. The 
coach was serious. 

"We’ve been mighty patient. Bud,” he said. 
"‘Now it’s time we tried strong medicine. Suppose 
136 


LOCKER-ROOM GOSSIP 


we try Thatcher at third base in place of Daly?’^ 

Buddy nodded quickly. 

“And if that doesn’t produce results, we’ll make 
the medicine a bit stronger.” 

Buddy’s hopes rose again. Sometimes a shake-up 
puts a team on its toes and makes it fight. And 
then came another thought. What a fool he had 
been to think that Mr. Ferris would miss what was 
so apparent to him. 

Over Sunday he learned that Bloomfield, Bruns- 
wick, Hasbrouck and Pompton had won their 
games. Monday morning another league standing 
was posted: 


Lackawanna 

W L 
4 0 

PC. 

1. 000 

Irontown . . 

3 

I 

•750 

Bloomfield . 

3 

I 

•750 

Fairview . . 

2 

2 

.500 

Saddle Riv. 

2 

2 

.500 


Pompton . . 

W L 

2 2 

PC. 

.500 

Hasbrouck . 

2 

2 

.500 

Garrison . . 

I 

3 

.250 

Brunswick . 

I 

3 

.250 

Gates 

0 

4 

.000 


Before classes, Daly was told that he had been 
benched. For a moment his face darkened; then 
the cloud lifted and he shrugged his shoulders and 
turned away. 


137 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


That afternoon Thatcher played third base. 
Daly’s punishment did not seem to have affected 
the others. Once Rood and Walters fell to 
scuffling around second base when they should have 
been paying attention to the practice; and again, 
when a ball went through his legs, Lewis bent down 
low and whistled for it to come back. It was 
funny — ^but it was not baseball. 

The next game was against Bloomfield. It was 
O’Rourke’s turn to pitch but here was a place 
when turns had to be abandoned. Bloomfield was 
too strong. She had won three and lost one. The 
assignment fell to Schuyler Arch. 

O’Rourke took the news with a smile. ^T’m 
satisfied to fight the weak ones,” he said. *Tt’s 
good practice. Maybe next year I’ll be good 
enough to pitch against the leaders.” 

Buddy’s heart warmed toward the pitcher. If 
only some of the others felt like that! 

He was resolved that this time, if it was at all 
possible, he would make the team play ball. Before 
the first inning was over he knew that they had 
to play ball, or else the game was lost. For Bloom- 
field, catching Schuyler before he was in his stride, 
hammered out three luscious runs. 

138 


LOCKER-ROOM GOSSIP 

Out on the coaching lines Buddy pleaded and 
urged. The team had to overcome that lead! For 
all of that, the scorer kept marking ciphers in his 
big book. In the first inning not a Fairview run- 
ner got on the bases. Walters, Lewis and Baxter 
were thrown out one-two-three in the second. In 
the third Buddy himself went to bat. The Bloom- 
field catcher, mocking the seriousness of his coach- 
ing, cried aloud: 

‘^Come on, now, let’s see you hit it.” 

Buddy struck out. A handful of Bloomfield 
rooters cheered. He turned, shamefaced, toward 
the bench — and next inning he was out in the 
coaching-box again. 

By this time Schuyler was pitching great guns. 
The Bloomfield pitcher, though, was doing every 
bit as well. The fourth inning passed, and the 
fifth. The score was still 3 to o. Fairview seemed 
unable to overcome that lead. 

In the sixth. Buddy came to bat for the second 
time. 

“Yah!” cried the Bloomfield catcher. “Here’s 
old Pepper Coach again. Watch him hit it a mile.” 

Buddy didn’t. He struck out again. 

139 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


Back on the bench somebody said, ‘‘Gee! that’s 
the second time.” It sounded like Daly’s voice. 

Buddy had tried desperately to hit the ball. His 
failure stung, not because it was a personal failing 
but because it seemed to typify the failure of the 
nine. How could a captain go out and call upon 
his players to do what he himself could not do? 
He could imagine the team whispering and nudging 
and taking his urging with a wink. If he himself 
could start a rally with a hit — Oh, what a dif- 
ference that would make! Then he would be really 
leading. 

The seventh inning passed. Brunswick was 
blanked in her half of the eighth. Fairview came 
to bat. If the Blue and White was going to do 
anything she would have to hurry, for the time was 
short. 

Grant was first up. Buddy ran out to the coach- 
ing box. 

“Come on, Grantie! Here’s where we sew up 
the game. Climb into it.” 

The Bloomfield pitcher threw the ball. Grant 
swung and missed. 

“Well, well, well!” cried the Bloomfield catcher. 
“He’s hitting just like old Pepper Coach.” 

140 


LOCKER-ROOM GOSSIP 

Buddy heard, but his coaching did not falter. 
‘'Only takes one to hit, Grantie. Get this one; 
get it.’’ 

Grant “got it.” The ball streaked out to deep 
right. When it was returned to the diamond. 
Grant was grinning in safety from third base. 

Buddy’s pulse raced. Maybe this was where the 
“breaks” would come to Fairview. 

“Take your time, Walters. Wait for a good 
one. Take your time.” 

Walters evidently found the first pitch good 
enough. He swung heavily. Far out to center the 
ball soared, and a Brunswick fielder was under it 
when it fell. Grant scored after the catch. Fair- 
view’s first run was in. 

Buddy’s pulse dropped. One run was far from 
being three. The bases were clear. Fairview 
would practically have to begin her assault all over 
again. 

Lewis strolled out to the plate. The first pitch 
was wide; the second was too high. The third 
drove him back to escape being hit. 

“Ball three!” called the umpire. 

Once more Buddy’s pulse jumped. Up to this 
point the Bloomfield pitcher had been like a rock. 
141 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


Was he weakening? Had Fairview’s golden 
chance come? 

“Watch him now, Lewis, he pleaded. A signal 
went to the batter not to offer at the next. The 
pitcher, suspecting the batter would not try to hit, 
laid the ball squarely over the plate. 

“Strike one !’' 

Buddy’s voice rang out. “Use your eyes, Lewis ; 
look them over.” 

It was the signal for the batter to use his own 
judgment. Lewis’s grip tightened. The ball came 
in. His shoulder muscles tensed — and then they 
relaxed, and he allowed the pitch to go by. 

“Four balls. Take your base.” 

Down to first Lewis ran. A thrill went up and 
down Buddy’s spine. 

Baxter was at the plate. He could hit if he got 
a ball to his liking, and the Bloomfield pitcher gave 
him exactly what he wanted. The ball shot out to 
right field. There a Bloomfield fielder took it on 
the first bound and held Baxter on first base, but 
Lewis ran all the way around to third. 

The Fairview bench had suddenly sprung to life. 
The tonic of an unexpected rally had caught them 
all, players and substitutes alike. Thatcher went 
142 


LOCKER-ROOM GOSSIP 


out to the plate, and even Daly begged him to knock 
the cover off the ball. 

This time it was cioubt and apprehension that 
thrilled Buddy’s nerves. Thatcher was more or 
less of an unknown quantity. He might hit safely, 
or he might hit into a double play. 

‘‘Come on. Thatch,” he cried. “Everybody’s 
hitting him. Take your time. Wait for a good 
one. Take your time now.” 

Out of the comer of his eyes he caught frantic 
hands waving from the bench. Rood ran out to 
him. 

“You’re up next. Bud. I’ll watch out here.” 

The captain, in his excitement, had forgotten 
the batting order. Even as he moved in toward 
the bench there was the sound of a ball plunking 
into a glove. 

“Strike one!” 

The bench groaned. Thatcher, evidently, had 
swung wildly. Buddy swung around to watch, just 
in time to see Thatcher swing again. 

“Strike two.” 

“Good night!” said a voice. “Here’s where a 
strike-out kills this rally dead as a mackerel.” 

All at once Buddy’s hands twitched. He was up 

143 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


next. The game would be up to him — and he had 
failed twice already. 

Thatcher swung again. A yell broke out along 
the bench. 

‘^Come on!’' shrieked Rood. “Run your head 
off.” 

Thatcher’s bat had barely touched the top of the 
ball. Almost dead, it was rolling a few feet in 
front of the plate. Lewis could not hope to score, 
but Baxter was running madly for second. And 
Thatcher, like a scared rabbit, was legging it with 
all his might for first. 

The Bloomfield catcher gripped the ball. It 
twisted out of his fingers. He caught it again 
with a nervous clutch and threw a bit wide — ^just 
wide enough to pull the Bloomfield first-baseman 
off the bag. Thatcher, and Baxter and Lewis were 
safe. 

“Your turn. Buddy,” called the scorer. 

He took a step toward the plate. The bench had 
become still. To do the right thing 

“Come on. Buddy,” called Rood. “Bring ’em 
all in.” 

Could he? Was it right to risk Fairview’s 
chances? He had a feeling that the Bloomfield 
144 


LOCKER-ROOM GOSSIP 


pitcher had weakened. He might be able to hit 
safely now. But he had failed weakly twice be- 
fore, and this might be Fairview's last chance. 

Slowly he turned back. “Hit for me, Terry,” he 
said, and sat down. The bench broke into clamor 
again, yelping to Terry to sew things up. He 
seemed to have been forgotten. Then two hands, 
moving from opposite directions, rested on his 
knees. He knew, without looking up, to whom 
they belonged — Schuyler and Mr. Ferris. 

A minute later the bench was in an uproar. 
Terry had punched out a stinging two-bagger, and 
Lewis and Baxter were home. The score was tied. 

That hit was the finish of Bloomfield^s pitcher. 
His next pitch was wild, and Thatcher scored. 
And then Schuyler singled, and scored Terry. 
Fairview, 5; Bloomfield, 3. 

“Wow !” came a yell from the Fairview students. 
“How^s that for a rally?” 

It was all right — ^very much all right. Buddy’s 
only regret was that he, the team’s captain, had 
been forced to step aside so that Fairview could 
have her chance to win. His leadership, it seemed 
to him, was a failure. He wondered if Terry’s 
captaincy at Dickinson had been like that. 

145 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


Schuyler went into the ninth inning with that 
glorious two-run lead. Bloomfield, before his skill, 
never had a chance. When the last Bloomfield 
batter was thrown out, the crowd broke through 
the ropes and came out on the field cheering and 
singing. 

This was the way the old Fairview crowds used 
to act. Buddy’s face lighted with a smile. Some- 
times an uphill fight was a grand thing. Maybe 
this was one of the times. His depression because 
of his inability to hit was passing. After all, 
Fairview had won. That’s what counted most. 

That afternoon he had left in his desk a note- 
book he would need in preparing to-morrow’s les- 
sons. When he reached the school, he ran upstairs, 
intending to bring the book down to the locker-room 
without delay. But the book, as he lifted it, opened 
at a page, and something he saw there puzzled him. 
They were notes he himself had taken, but just 
then he could not decipher them. He sat atop the 
desk with his brow wrinkled, and the minutes raced 
away. Finally, a long time later, the meaning be- 
came clear. He scribbled an explanation so that 
he would not be puzzled again, and went downstairs. 

146 


LOCKER-ROOM GOSSIP 


It was late. He noticed for the first time that 
daylight was fading. The locker-room was de- 
serted. He took off his uniform, skipped under the 
shower, turned on the water for a moment, and 
then turned it off. Presently he was dry and 
glowing. ■ 

He was almost dressed when footsteps sounded 
overhead. They came down the stairs. Two boys 
walked into the locker-room. 

‘‘Where did you leave it?'* said one. 

“Here, some place," said the other, and began to 
search. 

They were two of the substitute players. Not 
once did they glance down to where Buddy stood. 
It was doubtful, in the dusk, if they would have 
seen him. 

“Say," said the first, “this must have been some 
school last year to elect a fellow like Jones captain." 

“You bet," said the other. “Half the fellows 
in the squad can play a better game than he. Look 
at the botch he made in the first game." 

“And look at the botch he made to-day. We’d 
have lost sure if it Wasn’t for Terry. Gee whiz! 
what did they elect him captain for?" 

147 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 

'‘You can search — Oh! Here it is. I’d hate 
to lose this glove after getting it broke in.” 

They went upstairs. Their footsteps echoed 
along the hall, and then were gone. 

Buddy’s breath came in a sigh. What had he 
been elected captain for? Was that how the squad 
was talking? No wonder he could not fill them 
with the fighting spirit that seemed so vital. No 
wonder they would not follow him. 


CHAPTER VI 


BURNING HIS BRIDGES 

A SENSE of failure was no new thing for 
Buddy of late. To-night he went home 
with the bitter taste of it in his mouth. 
The days when he and Schuyler had v/atched the 
new high school rear its walls seemed far, far back 
in the past. What pictures they had painted of 
Fairview’s greatness! What a brilliant future had 
seemed to await the school with its coming army 
of new students, and the powers they would bring! 
How they had thrilled when they had heard that 
‘"Mystery'* Ferris, of Yale, wOuld be their coach! 
And it all had come to this! 

Another boy, in his bitterness, might have blamed 
the coach for sitting quietly while the squad made 
light of its work. But Buddy, in a dim way, 
seemed to understand that great mysterious forces 
were at work in the school, changing conditions, 
changing opinions, almost changing ideals. Just 
149 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


as immigrants, arriving in a foreign land, must 
gradually find themselves and accustom themselves 
to change, so did this army of boys that had come 
to Fairview from far and near have to find a com- 
mon spirit to which it could give expression. If 
Mr. Ferris allowed events to run and shape their 
own course. Buddy was sure that there was a rea- 
son. But, oh! it was hard to strive single-handed 
against indifference and have only failure as his 
portion. 

Perhaps, after all, there was no spirit, no faith, 
in which these boys could unite. Perhaps, after all, 
the little school could never have the large, broad 
spirit that the big school had. Perhaps Fairview 
had deluded herself all these years thinking she had 
something that she had not. 

That thought frightened Buddy. If that were 
so, then nothing was left. To-day, to-morrow, the 
next day, Fairview would go on just as she was 
now — alive, but with no love of school, no high 
principles of sacrifice, no soul. 

He had meant to keep this latest disappointment 
to himself. But it was a question too deep, too 
vital,, to be left to his own judgment. After sup- 
per he followed Bob upstairs; and there, in his 

150 


BURNING HIS BRIDGES 

brother’s room, he poured out his doubts and his 
fears. 

For a while Bob did not speak. After a time he 
arose and walked to the window, and stood staring 
out at the dark night. 

“It strikes me,” he said, “that we may make a 
comparison between nations and schools. When a 
man serves his country with all his strength we call 
it patriotism. When a boy serves his school, we 
call it loyalty.” 

Buddy nodded. He could see that. 

“You seem to think,” Bob went on, “that the 
small school may fail to teach the big things just 
because it is small. Then the small nation, because 
it is a small nation, should lack in patriotism, and 
honor, and nobleness. But — there’s Belgium, 
Buddy.” 

Yes; there was Belgium, and her story was one 
the world would never forget. Buddy drew a deep 
breath. 

“Fairview has the spirit,” he said. “I — I’ve 
failed to make the nine see it.” 

“Only so far,” said Bob. 

“Only so far,” Buddy said slowly. When he 
looked at his brother again, his eyes were once more 

151 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


full of courage. He was going to forget what the 
nine thought of him. It made little difference, any- 
way. He would try to make them see Faiiview as 
he saw it, as Schuyler saw it, as it was. If once the 
vision came, never again would the nine lose with 
a jest, and a laugh, and a happy-go-lucky don't 
care. Then fighting for Fairview — fighting, mind 
— ^would be a privilege, and a duty, and an honor. 

When he came to school in the morning, the re- 
sults of yesterday's games were waiting for him 
in the letter-box. Soon a new league standing was 
on the bulletin board : 


Lackawanna 

W L 

4 I 

PC. 

.800 

Fairview . . 

3 

2 

.600 

Irontown . . 

3 

2 

.600 

Bloomfield . 

3 

2 

.600 

Hasbrouck . 

3 

2 

.600 


Saddle Riv. 

W L 

2 3 

PC. 

.400 

Pompton . . 

2 

3 

.400 

Garrison . . 

2 

3 

.400 

Brunswick . 

2 

3 

.400 

Gates 

I 

4 

.200 


This morning, for the first time, there was a 
flurry of interest. Students gathered thickly about 
the board. 

‘‘Gosh ! Poor old Gates won a game at last." 
“Who walloped Lackawanna? Hasbrouck? 
Good for Hasbrouck." 


152 


BURNING HIS BRIDGES 

‘‘And Brunswick beat Irontown in twelve innings. 
Must have been a good game.” 

Not a word about Fairview being in second place 
and only one game behind the leader. The pennant 
fight, apparently, was taken as an impersonal thing 
that did not affect the school at all. Buddy^s jaw 
squared. His work was cut out for him. But his 
fighting blood was up. 

That day, and the next, he worked as he had 
never worked before. During fielding practice, 
while Mr. Ferris hit to the infielders, he caught at 
the plate, and his voice rang a constant challenge to 
play ball. No one, hearing his cheery, optimistic 
battle cries, would have guessed the effort they cost 
him. 

For it was maddening to urge, urge, urge, and 
then have little things happen to show the nine’s 
lack of fire. Once, when a ball was momentarily 
lost among the spectators, Lewis sat down on the 
first-base bag, and they had to call him twice before 
play could be resumed. Last year’s Fairview team, 
if one scant game behind the leaders, would have 
burned up the field. 

A little inward voice kept whispering to him, 
“It’s no use. Bud.” Nevertheless, he continued 

153 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


the fight to make the nine what a Fairview nine 
should be. Years before he had written as a pen- 
manship lesson a sentence that had to do with 
dripping water and wearing stone. If water could 
wear stone, perhaps persistence might wear away 
the indifference of the team. 

Saturday’s game, the sixth of the season, was 
against Gates — and Gates was the weakest team 
in the league. For that much Buddy gave thanks. 
With any luck at all, Fairview should win. And 
if Lackawanna lost — 

‘We’ll be tied,” Buddy whispered. Could the 
nine remain cold then ? 

Next day Fairview played and won. It was not 
an impressive victory by any means. Once or twice 
Gates had almost turned the tables. But as a win, 
it opened the door to possibilities. When the last 
Gates batter was thrown out. Buddy hurried over 
to the bench and waited for the players to come in 
from the field. 

“Say,” h^ cried, “if Lackawanna lost to-day we’re 
tied for the lead.” 

Lewis scratched his head. “That’s right. I 
never thought of that.” 


154 


BURNING HIS BRIDGES 


‘‘Let’s go down and telephone/’ Schuyler broke 
in, “and find out.” 

There was a quick nod of assent from O’Rourke 
and from Grant. Terry McCarthy reached for a 
sweater. 

“Count me in,” he said. 

But the others held back a moment. 

“Aw, shucks!” Rood protested; “what’s the 
rush? I want to get dressed. It will be in the 
mail in the morning.” 

Buddy did not insist. What was the use? It 
made very little difference now whether Lacka- 
wanna had won or lost. 

Monday’s mail showed that she had lost. So had 
Garrison, Bloomfield and Irontown. Irontown,. 
long the terror of the league, had apparently struck 
a bad year. 

In a deadened sort of way. Buddy made out a 
new standing of the teams : 


Lackawanna 

W L 

4 2 

PC. 

.666 

Bloomfield . 

W L 

3 3 

PC. 

.500 

Fairview . . 

4 

2 

.666 

Irontown . . 

3 

3 

.500 

Hasbrouck . 

4 

2 

.666 

Brunswick . 

3 

3 

.500 

Saddle Riv. 

3 

3 

.500 

Garrison . . 

2 

4 

•333 

Pompfon . . 

3 

3 

.500 

Gates 

I 

5 

.166 


155 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


He tacked it to the bulletin board, and then went 
up td his class-room without waiting to see what 
happened. Fairview in the lead, and not even a 
ripple in the squad ! Had he stayed, he would have 
seen Terry McCarthy in front of the board when 
all the others had gone. 

Terry had not taken his work as lightly as some 
of the others. In his own way he had really played 
the game. But up to this point he had been uncon- 
sciously touched with the same taint that had weak- 
ened them all. This fight for a little county league 
pennant had not gripped. It had been taken with 
a sort of careless, good-natured tolerance. 

To-day, though, standing in front of the board, 
he found himself with a quickened interest. It was 
not the fact that the team was tied for the lead. It 
was the memory of a boy who, out on the coaching- 
lines, had thrown himself heart and soul into games 
and into practice periods. 

Terry, as one who had once been a captain, was 
familiar with a captain’s itch to win. Something 
about the way Buddy acted seemed to him to go 
deeper than a mere ambition for conquest. It held 
a heat and passion that appeared to be part of a 
great cause. 


BURNING HIS BRIDGES 


Terry, with puckered eyes, turned away from 
the board at last. He had seen passion like that 
before — in boys who, on a desperate, losing eleven, 
played until they were spent, and sobbed when they 
were taken off. He had seen it in boys who ran 
themselves out in vain efforts to finish third in a 
race, just because the one point that went to third 
place was needed. But these things had happened 
at big schools that throbbed with tradition, and at 
games where thousands of persons filled the stands. 
Was it possible that here, in this little county league, 
a similar spirit was abroad? If so, why hadn't he 
felt it? 

‘'You do feel it — now," said an inward voice. 

It is doubtful if Terry heard a word of that 
morning's assembly announcements. His thoughts 
were confused, and he could not bring them to or- 
der. He was not an egotistical lad, and yet the 
football season had shown him plainly how far 
he and a lot of other new boys overshadowed the 
native students. The start of the baseball season 
had quickly revealed many players far superior to 
Buddy both in skill and in knowledge of the game. 
It was only natural, perhaps, that Terry should 
judge the school and the league by these things. 

157 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 

He had taken no part in the thoughtless, low- 
voiced jokes at Buddy's expense. He had honestly 
thought he should catch that first game, but he had 
accepted the line-up philosophically. Wasn't it 
natural for a captain to play himself in the opening 
battle? He would have been astounded had he 
known that Buddy had been afraid to take a chance 
on him. 

His baseball instinct had detected the vast power 
that Vanelli held in reserve, and he had been sure 
that Buddy would be unable to hold the pitcher 
when this reserve came into play. Why he had 
tried to warn Buddy he did not exactly know — 
perhaps because he was a bit sorry for him, perhaps 
because he wanted, just a little, to display his own 
wise judgment. Anyway, the warning had been 
given ; and later he had gone out of his way to send 
Buddy back to hearten O'Rourke. 

Privately he had thought that the older boys of 
the squad were about right in their judgment of the 
captain. For a while he had thought Buddy's fiery 
coaching just the desire to attain a captain's crown- 
ing glory — ^victory. And then had come the day 
when, with the Bloomfield game at stake, Buddy 

158 


BURNING HIS BRIDGES 

had stepped aside and had said, ‘‘Bat for me, 
Terry.” 

Terry had not expected it. Of course, Buddy 
had struck out twice, but wouldn't he want this 
chance to hit and be a hero? At the time Terry 
had sprung from the bench with no other thought 
than to lace the ball. Since then, though, many 
other thoughts had been crowding their way into 
his brain. 

First, it was a mighty big thing for Buddy to 
have surrendered that chance, particularly as he was 
aware of some of the joking at his expense. A hit 
at that time might have silenced the knockers. 
Second, the captain had at no time carried himself 
with the unmistakable marks of a boy who thinks 
merely of self. All at once the heat and fire of his 
coaching began to seem symbolic of everything 
that he had done. 

“Fairview!” said Terry to himself. He said it 
a second time. And then he said : “Thunder ! what 
a game little fight the kid has made.” He was 
more interested in Buddy just then than in the 
school. 

Had Buddy known what was passing in Terry's 
mind, he would have found it easier to steel himself 

159 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


to go forth that afternoon and resume the fight. 
At noon his courage was down to zero. By two 
o’clock he began to arouse himself. At three 
o’clock, when he went to the locker-room, he was 
ready once more to toe the scratch. 

He had an idea that things went better that day. 
Terry McCarthy’s playing had not shown any great 
change, and yet — What was it that made him 
think there had been a difference? 

In the locker-room he paused in his dressing more 
than once to send quick glances at the catcher. 
Once he was sure that Terry avoided his eyes. 
Why? 

“Say,” Schuyler whispered, “wasn’t Terry in 
things with more pep to-day?” 

So Schuyler had seen it, too. Buddy went home 
refreshed with a new hope. 

Up to this point he had never addressed the 
players in the locker-room. For one thing, he had 
been afraid to put his fortune to the test and face 
the battery of all those calm, superior eyes. Next 
day, though, as soon as he was dressed, he walked 
to the doorway and faced the squad. His nerves 
were twitching, and his heart was pounding against 
his ribs. He had not told Mr. Ferris what he in- 
160 


BURNING HIS BRIDGES 


tended to do. He had been afraid that at the last 
moment he would falter and quit. 

“Fellows!’' he said in an uncertain voice. 

The room grew quiet. He saw Rood, and Daly, 
and Lewis look at him in surprise. He caught 
Terry’s eyes, and this time Terry did not look away. 
He thought he read encouragement in the catcher’s 
face. 

“To-morrow,” he said, and now his voice was 
clearer, “we play Hasbrouck. As you know, Has- 
brouck, Lackawanna and Fairview are tied for the 
lead. If we win, and if Lackawanna loses, we will 
be out in front. To-morrow Fairview has her 
chance.” He paused. There was something else 
he wanted to say, but he could not find the words. 
“That — that’s all, fellows,” he ended. 

There was a moment of silence. 

“Hi, there!” Terry shouted. “Everybody on 
deck to get ready for Hasbrouck.” 

There was a race to finish dressing. Buddy, 
waiting at the door, wanted to hug himself. Over 
and over again he told himself that the appeal had 
succeeded. The squad was showing spirit and 
dash. Why hadn’t he tried something like that 
before? 

i6i 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 

The players, as they scrambled for stockings and 
shoes, joked buoyantly with Terry. ^‘Little speed 
there,’’ cried one. Another called, “How about it, 
Terry? Is this fast enough?” Terry, completely 
at ease, had a ready word for each sally. 

Presently it dawned on Buddy that only an occa- 
sional word was tossed at him. Terry seemed to 
be the master of the situation. It was Terry to 
whom the players turned. Of course, he was sat- 
isfied to have the nine look alive no matter what 
brought it about. Nevertheless he could not 
strangle a wistful longing that he were stronger, or 
a few years older — or whatever it was that Terry 
was and that he was not. 

“Coming, Buddy?” Mr. Ferris asked. 

Some of the boys, running, beat them to the field 
and began to throw the ball around with plenty of 
snap. Mr. Ferris stooped to select a bat. The 
captain ran his hand into his mitt and took a step 
toward his place. 

“Bud,” the coach called in an undertone. 

He paused and looked back. 

“I think you’re going to win out. Bud.” 

It was said with that warm, understanding smile. 
Buddy jumped for the plate. “Here!” he yelled; 

162 


BURNING HIS BRIDGES 

‘‘here!^^ The ball lined into his glove with a re- 
sounding smack. He swung down at an imaginary 
runner, straightened his back, and threw toward 
second. Rood snapped the ball in his glove a foot 
above the bag. 

“WowT’ he yelled. ^Tretty work!” 

That day’s practice was the best the nine had 
ever shown. In some way Terry seemed to lead it, 
and control it, and shape it as he would. 

“Oh!” Buddy breathed; “if they will only do this 
to-morrow. It’s Van’s turn to pitch, and he’ll 
surely win if they play like that.” 

The nine, on the morrow, played even better. 
Its spicy work was good enough to win nineteen 
games out of twenty. But this, unfortunately, was 
the twentieth game. Hasbrouck had the luck. 
Hard hit balls went directly at her fielders. The 
only pass that Vanelli gave was converted into a 
run. And of the five hits that Hasbrouck collected, 
four were bunched in one inning. Fairview, for 
all her fighting, was beaten 3 to 2. 

“Huh!” said Rood. “Who said we’d be out in 
front to-day?” 

“All that fight for nothing,” Lewis grumbled. 

163 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 

“No fighf s for nothing that’s a good fight,” said 
Buddy. 

But neither Rood nor Lewis made any comment. 

It seemed to Buddy that the Fates that ruled 
baseball surely had it in for him. Had the nine 
won to-day, the prospects would have been bright 
for it to continue its drive. It would have been 
off to a flying start. Now, after this defeat, its 
new-found energy might dwindle. The fire might 
be quenched. 

To add to his troubles, there was Vanelli. Van 
was undoubtedly the best pitcher on the team, and 
yet he had not won a game. He was beginning to 
grow discouraged. Thus far he had pitched good 
ball. He had tried to win. If, under the stress of 
continued disappointment, he began to drift into a 
rut, Fairview’s cause would be hopeless. 

Next day came a new league standing : 



W L 

PC. 


W L 

PC. 

Lackawanna 

5 2 

•714 

Brunswick . 

3 

4 

.428 

Hasbrouck . 

5 2 

.714 

Bloomfield . 

3 

4 

.428 

Fairview . . 

4 3 

•57^ 

Pomptoji . . 

3 

4 

.428 

Saddle Riv. 

4 3 

•571 

Garrison . . 

3 

4 

.428 

Irontown . . 

3 4 

.428 

Gates 

2 

5 

.265 


164 


BURNING HIS BRIDGES 


This time the players stood around the board a 
long time. There was hope in that^ anyway. 

“Too bad/’ said O’Rourke. 

“We can’t seem to get any higher, can we?” said 
Daly. 

“Doesn’t seem so,” said Lewis. 

He said it flippantly, as though it really didn’t 
make so very much difference. From the high 
hopes of yesterday down to a remark like that! 
Buddy felt a surge of disappointment, and then a 
rush of anger. This wasn’t giving the school a 
square deal. 

“Ah!” said Rood, “why can’t we just play our 
games and enjoy them, and ” 

“Because that’s not Fairview’s style,” said Buddy 
hotly. There ! At last he had turned on them and 
had fought for the school as he had never thought 
he would have to fight a Fairview nine. 

Terry glanced at Buddy with wide eyes, and then 
looked around at the walls, the ceiling, the stairway, 
as though suddenly viewing the school in a new 
light. Nobody made answer. Gradually the 
crowd broke up and melted away until all were 
gone but Terry. 

«I He paused awkwardly. For once his 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


old air of unconscious superiority was gone as 
though he stood in the presence of something that 
made him seem small. “Fm with you,” he blurted, 
and hurried upstairs to his class-room. 

Buddy drew a deep breath. How many of the 
others felt like Terry? 

Mr. Ferris would not be at the field to-day. The 
work would all be on his shoulders. He went to 
the practice sure that to-day would decide every- 
thing. Instead, it decided nothing. The playing 
was good in spots, and bad in spots; careless one 
moment, and flashy the next. Usually the good 
spots showed when Terry, with that air of com- 
radeship he carried, sprang into the breach and 
cried for action. 

“If Terry were captain,” Buddy told himself 
wistfully, “I bet things would be different.” 

However, Terry was not captain. He was cap- 
tain. His was the job to carry on, to face the dark 
hours and to struggle through to the light. Who 
could have foreseen that a school of good spirit like 
Fairview would be wrecked by the indifference and 
the carelessness of those who were expectd to bring 
it strength? 

Friday it rained and there was no chance to pre- 
i66 


BURNING HIS BRIDGES 

pare further for Saturday’s game with Pompton. 
Buddy posted the line-up in a locker-room that was 
almost deserted. Thatcher still held the third-base 
assignment; and Daly, after reading the names, 
stalked out without a word. O’Rourke was down 
to pitch, and Terry to catch. 

‘T thought you’d catch O’Rourke to-morrow,” 
Schuyler said in surprise. 

‘‘No.” Buddy shook his head a trifle grimly. 
“I’ll be on the coaching-lines.” Thus far his efforts 
to stir the team had been in vain, but the memory 
of the old Fairview that was would not let him 
shirk what was his to do. 

The Pompton game tried him almost to the break- 
ing point. The first batter hit to Thatcher, and the 
third-baseman fumbled. The next batter bunted, 
and Thatcher threw the ball over Lewis’s head. 
The result was a Pompton runner on third and one 
on second, and none out. And then the third batter 
slammed the ball right through Thatcher’s legs, and 
two runs were in. 

“Daly!” Mr. Ferris called. “Play third.” 

Daly ran out with a triumphant grin. Buddy’s 
heart sank. Daly had been taken out as a matter 
of discipline, and here he was back in the game 
167 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 

again without having once shown that he would 
not commit the same fault again. 

Those three errors in a row had shattered 
O’Rourke's nerves. He began to pitch wildly. 
Before he steadied two more runs were over. The 
scorer marked in his book a black, staggering 4. 
And Buddy, with the outlook black and dreary, 
went out to the coaching box to rouse the nine to 
an uphill fight. 

At the end of the third inning the score still 
read : Pompton, 4 ; FaiiView, o. The team had lost 
the dash it had shown against Hasbrouck. 

O’Rourke passed the first boy who faced him in 
the fourth, and then came a solid two-bagger. 
Terry, catching, looked inquiringly toward the 
bench. Buddy shook his head. There was just a 
chance that O’Rourke might weather this — ^just a 
chance. 

But the first ball thrown to the next batter was 
wild. To let O’Rourke stay in the game, after that, 
would be to shut the door to all hope of winning. 

‘T think we ought to switch to Schuyler,” Buddy 
said. 

Mr. Ferris nodded. “O’Rourke is gone. I’d 
catch Schuyler if I were you.” 

168 


BUKNING HIS BRIDGES 


Schuyler Arch had been throwing the ball to a 
substitute ever since the first inning. His arm was 
‘‘warm” and ready for service. Buddy took 
Terry’s chest protector and glove. 

“This fellow at bat is weak on a low in,” Terry 
said in an undertone. 

Buddy nodded. “Go out to the coaching lines, 
will you?” 

“Sure.” 

“And make them fight.” He said it almost ap- 
pealingly. 

Schuyler, using a low curve, struck out the bat- 
ter. The next boy flied to Grant, in right field, 
and the runner on third scored after the catch. 
Daly threw out the third batter and swaggered to 
the bench. The score was Pompton, 5; Fair- 
view, o. 

“Make them fight,” Buddy whispered as he 
passed Terry. It was almost a confession that he 
could not. 

For a time it seemed that even Terry was not 
equal to the task. But at last the nine responded 
to his ceaseless, patient bidding. A run was scored 
in the sixth, and two runs in the eighth. One more 
chance — the ninth inning — was left. 

169 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 

And now the nine was fighting. How Terry 
did it Buddy did not know — but he did. Rood, 
first up, was thrown out by the infield. Meyers 
walked, and by daring base-running went all the 
way to third on Grant's single to right field. 
Walters came to the plate with the crowd imploring 
for a hit. There was a groan as he flied out to the 
shortstop. 

^'Oh, boys!” came Terry's clear call; “here's 
where we show them a clean-up.'' 

But Lewis struck vainly at three curves. The 
catcher dropped the third strike, and it rolled in 
back of him. Meyers did not try to score — ^the 
risk was too great. By the time the catcher re- 
covered the ball, Lewis was almost on first. He 
held the sphere and did not thi^w, and looked in 
disgust at Grant prancing about second base. 

“Three on and two out!'' Buddy breathed. 
“Terry! Terry!” 

“Now, Baxter!” Terry's voice was almost a 
song of victory. “Show them something, now.” 

Baxter hit a tremendous fly. At first it looked 
good for three bases and the game. But the 
Pompton center-fielder, running desperately, man- 
170 


BURNING HIS BRIDGES 

aged to get under the flying ball. Fairview had 
lost again. 

‘‘Luck's against us,” Rood said dejectedly. 

“We didn't begin to fight soon enough,” said 
Buddy. Terry noded an emphatic “Yes.” None 
of the players asked him what he meant. 

Over Sunday the baseball situation was much 
in Buddy's mind. The team could fight when it 
wanted to, but he could not inspire it. And Terry 
could. Terry was of their own age, and had a 
playing skill that commanded respect. Were Terry 
the captain, the baseball would not now be at so 
sorry a state. Fellows like Rood would not be 
talking about the luck of the game, because the nine 
would be making its own luck. 

Monday he posted another standing of clubs. 
Hasbrouck had lost Saturday, and Lackawanna 
now had the lead to herself : 



W L 

PC. 


W L 

PC. 

Lackawanna 

6 

2 

•750 

Fairview 

.. 4 

4 

.500 

Hasbrouck . 

5 

3 

.625 

Pompton 

.. 4 

4 

.500 

Brunswick . 

4 

4 

.500 

Irontown 

•• 3 

5 

•375 

Bloomfield . 

4 

4 

.500 

Gates . . . 

•• 3 

5 

•375 

Saddle Riv. 

4 

4 

.500 

Garrison 

•• 3 

5 

•375 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


/ 

'‘Two games behind/’ Terry said. “It isn’t hard 
to make up two games.” 

“It isn’t when you have the luck,” said Rood. 

“It isn’t when you play ball,” Terry said 
sharply. 

Rood’s face reddened. “Say, who do you think 
you are, the captain?” 

“No,” said Terry; “I’m not. The trouble is that 
the fellow who is captain has been too square and 
decent about things.” 

“To me?” Rood demanded. 

“To all of us,” Terry answered. He had come 
to understand Buddy’s faith, and devotion, and loy- 
alty. Now, all at once, in understanding that, he 
understood the school. He looked around for 
Buddy, and was glad to find that the captain was 
not there. 

This time Rood’s face went even redder, and 
he turned away. 

Buddy had heard none of the argument. Schuy- 
ler told him later. 

“How did the fellows take it?” he asked. 

“One or two looked as though it hit them.” 

It probably had — coming from Terry. He was 
sure of Terry’s aid, but there would always be fel- 
172 


BURNING HIS BRIDGES 


lows who would say: “Who do you think you 

are, the captain?” If Terry were captain 

Buddy stared ahead. 

The cards that Mr. Ferris had collected at the 
start of the season showed the record of each new 
boy's school. At noon Buddy went down to the 
locker-room and found the card marked “Dickin- 
son.” There was the Jersey City school's record 
under Terry. He stared at it a long time, and fi- 
nally put it away with a sigh. 

Three of the players worked that afternoon in a 
way that set them apart — Grant, Walters and 
Lewis. Up to yesterday Lewis's playing at first 
base had been speckled with that in-and-out lack- 
luster that was so maddening. The first-baseman, 
evidently, was one of those from whom Terry's 
words had struck fire. 

But as against this bright spot was the work of 
Vanelli. His three defeats seemed to have dis- 
couraged him. His customary calm was gone. He 
was irritable and his delivery seemed to lack the 
ability to deceive. During batting practice every- 
body slaughtered it. 

The schedule decreed that on Wednesday Fair- 
view should cross bats with Irontown. Two years 

173 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


before Irontown had been beaten for the pennant 
by a single game. This year she was tied with Gar- 
rison and Gates for last place. Buddy found some 
comfort in the fact that Van, in his uncertain frame 
of mind, would go against a tail-ender. 

Vanelli started the Irontown game apparently 
lacking confidence. He skidded badly in the first 
inning, and was in serious trouble in the second, 
but superb support from Terry saved him each time. 
Then, in the fourth, the deluge came. 

With one out, four batters in a row hit safely. 
Buddy, sitting on the bench, gripped his knees with 
trembling fingers. Was this game going to go the 
same old way — Fairview behind and staying be- 
hind ? 

The next Irontown batter hit a grounder. 

‘‘Right at Daly,'' cried one of the substitutes. 
“Now for a double play." 

But Daly, all too eager, fumbled. 

Vanelli threw his glove on the ground. Terry 
called him down to the plate and stood with a hand 
on his shoulder talking earnestly. Presently Van, 
shuffling his feet, went back to the mound. Terry 
signaled for a curve, and he pitched without heart 
or effort. 


174 


BURNING HIS BRIDGES 


The batter slugged with all his might. There was 
enough power in his hit for a home run. The ball, 
however, went right at Walters. The shortstop 
clutched it, winced, held to it, and pounced on an 
Irontown runner who had started for third. The 
side was out. 

Vanelli, looking defiantly sullen, walked in. 
Buddy, his lips white, arose from the bench. This 
thing of a Fairview pitcher lobbing the ball up to 
the plate just because his support cracked had to 
stop. Before he could speak, Terry’s voice broke 
in: 

“Van, you’re not trying.” 

The pitcher whirled about furiously. “What do 
vou mean?” 

“You’re not trying. That’s plain English.” 

Vanelli, after a moment of indecision, sat down. 
Mr. Ferris, with puckered eyes, was watching th^ 
scene. 

“Ah, what’s the use?” Vanelli grumbled. “Every^ 
thing goes wrong when I pitch.” 

“Van!” Terry cried sharply. 

The pitcher stiffened his shoulders. “Well?” 

“Are you going to fight or play yellow?” 

Van took a step forward with his fists doubled. 

175 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


Terry shifted his weight from one foot to the other. 
There was a moment of silence. 

'T — I’m going to fight,” Van said in a low voice. 

And next inning he pitched like a fury. 

Buddy drew down to the end of the bench. So 
far as that game was concerned, he ceased to exist. 
He could never have handled Vanelli. He — he 
couldn’t do anything! Another boy took his place 
on the coaching lines. He thought the coach would 
question him between innings, but the coach said 
not a word. 

Sitting there, he watched Terry rally the nine. 
With the Irontown pitcher working as he was, vic- 
tory for Fairview was almost impossible. And 
yet, with Terry out there, the players seemed to find 
the courage to try to do the impossible. They did 
not succeed; the game ended as another defeat for 
Fairview. But the way the nine had striven 
brought a lump into Buddy’s throat. To-day, in 
defeat, Fairview was mighty. She had a lion’s 
heart. Some one had filled her with a lion’s spirit. 
Buddy knew who that somebody was. 

He thought that, even though the coach might 
not question him, it was his duty to explain. He 
did not want the man to think that he had quit. 


BURNING HIS BRIDGES 


The players went on ahead to the locker-room. He 
was glad to see them go, for he did not want them 
to hear what he had to say. At last, in self- 
defense, he would have to bring up a subject on 
which he and the coach had both been silent — ^he 
would have to condemn his nine. 

*'Mr. Ferris,” he began, ‘‘when I went down to 
the end of the bench to-day, and stayed there ” 

“I understand,” the coach said gently. 

Somehow, there was a strange comfort in that. 
The coach understood! 

They came to a corner at the foot of a steep in- 
cline. A truck loaded \vith iron was being drawn 
by three horses to one of the mills. The wagon 
had come to a half and the horses, shying, and 
straining, and bumping against each other, could not 
seem to start it. The driver, coaxing, finally got * 
all their shoulders into the harness at once. , The 
truck moved up the grade. 

“The nine is like that,” said Mr. Ferris. “The 
strength is there, but they don’t all pull together 
with a common purpose.” 

“And the driver,” said Buddy. “What about 
him?” 


177 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 

Mr. Ferris shook his head. ‘‘You’re discouraged 
to-night, Bud.” 

“But what about the driver?” Buddy persisted. 
“If you owned three good horses and the driver 
couldn’t make them go, you’d get a driver who 
could.” 

“I don’t own horses,” the man laughed, trying to 
change the boy’s thoughts. 

“Fairview does,” Buddy said, “and I can’t drive 
them.” His steps quickened as though he had sud- 
denly come to a decision. 

In the locker-room he dressed with feverish haste. 
No shower bath to-night — he hadn’t time. He 
wanted to have his clothes on before anybody left. 
What he had to say he wanted all to hear. And 
then he wanted to leave before — ^before — ^before he 
showed them how badly he felt. 

There was a blur in front of his eyes as he walked 
toward the door. Something in his manner drew 
the attention of the squad. There was a whisper, 
a nervous flutter, and then silence. 

“Poor Bud!” Mr i'erris muttered. He knew ex- 
actly what the boy intended to do. 

At the door Buddy faced around. For a mo- 
178 


BURNING HIS BRIDGES 

ment he had to steady himself with his legs spread 
wide. 

“Fellows/' he said huskily, “I — Fm going to quit. 
I guess I should never have been captain this year. 
When I heard how many new students were com- 
ing, I thought how fine it would be for Fairview. 
Instead, everything has gone wrong. 

“Fm not blaming anybody. Maybe I should have 
quit right at the start as soon as I saw how few of 
the old students were on the nine. You fellows 
didn’t have any voice in picking me. You just 
came and found me here. Maybe I should have 
let you pick your own captain right away. If I 
did wrong then, Fm trying to do right now. I want 
Fairview to have a nine that will be Fairview. 

“We have a school that’s as fine and as clean as 
any. You fellows are new here. Maybe it’s too 
soon for you to love it. But, oh, I want you to 
come to know Fairview as it is. I want you to 
play for her from the first inning to the last, whether 
you’re ahead or whether you’re behind — ^because 
she’s worth it. 

“I — Fm not quitting because we’re low in the 
league. I’ve been telling myself maybe things would 
be better if you fellows could have your own cap- 
179 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


tain. Maybe then youUl come to know Fair view 
as she is. So Fm going to quit. I don’t know who 
you’ll pick, but whoever he is, I’ll play for him as 
hard as I know how. He’ll be a Fairview captain, 
and I’ll be a Fairview fellow. I — I guess that’s 
all.” 

He turned suddenly and went up the stairs, 
stumbling once or twice on the way. This was the 
end of his dream! 

Back in the locker-room there was silence. Af- 
ter a while Mr. Ferris walked toward the exit. 
Whatever the squad did, it was best that the players 
debated alone. 

‘‘Good night,” he called. 

“Good night, coach,” Terry answered. 

The room became silent again. The boys seemed 
afraid to meet each other’s eyes. 

“Say,” one of the substitute players asked cau- 
tiously, “he surely soaked us, didn’t he?” 

“Oh, shut up!” Terry said fiercely. 

The substitute player drew back. Silence again. 

“We had it coming to us,” said a low voice at 
last. 

Terry looked around quickly to see who had 
spoken. It was Rood. 

i8o 


CHAPTER VII 


THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 

B uddy went home that night trying to con- 
sole himself with the thought that he had 
done what was best for Fairview. Never- 
theless, now that it was all over, he experienced a 
deep and poignant sense of loneliness. Gone were 
the walks back to the locker-room with Mr. Ferris. 
Gone were the little conferences, rich with inti- 
macies, during which they selected the batteries for 
the games. Some other boy would hereafter share 
the comradeship of the coach. That thought 
brought a lump into his throat. 

In all the discouraging days that had passed, Mr. 
Ferris had never ruled the situation with a high 
hand, not even when things were at their worst. Yet 
Buddy knew, deep in his heart, that at all times the 
coach had been with him. And he believed, too, 
that the man understood the reason for what he 
had done to-night, and was with him now. 

ii8i 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


As he walked home he pictured the squad, back 
in the locker-room, openly pleased that he had 
stepped aside. That was hard, too. He had tried 
to make them see that Fairview was worth the best 
they could give, but he was not at all sure that he 
had succeeded. If they would not follow his lead- 
ership when he was in command, why should they 
pay attention to him once he moved down into the 
ranks ? 

After supper he went upstairs to his room. He 
resolved to study all his lessons to-night and not 
leave anything for the morning, for in the morning 
he would have to tabulate the results of the games, 

and post a league Suddenly he sighed and 

opened a book. He was quite forgetting. Some 
other boy would attend to the results and post the 
league standing hereafter. 

About eight o’clock Schuyler Arch came to the 
house. Buddy wanted to ask what had happened, 
but did not dare. Schuyler walked around the 
room restlessly. 

'They elected Terry,” he said at last. 

Buddy drew a deep breath. He had hoped they 
would do that. 

"Terry’ll make a good captain,” he said. 

182 


THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 


‘‘You made a good captain,” Schuyler cried an- 
grily. “It wasn't your fault. I wanted to tell 
them ” 

Buddy sprang up in alarm. “You didn't 
though?'' 

“No.” Schuyler walked over to the window and 
looked out. “I couldn't. It wouldn't have been 
fair to start trouble after what you had done to 
make things right.” 

Buddy's lips trembled into an uncertain smile. 
“You're a brick, Schuyler.” 

“Rats! I hope Terry leads them a dog's life.” 

“No, you don't.” 

“I ” Schuyler paused. “No; I don't. I 

want Fairview to be Fairview.” 

That talk with the pitcher relieved Buddy's mind. 
He didn't feel quite so gloomy. After Schuyler 
had gone, he walked into the dining-room and told 
his brother the story of his resignation. 

“Who's captain now?” Bob asked. 

“Terry McCarthy. I did right, didn't I?” 

“There was nothing else to do. Bud, if you 
thought the nine was better for the change. How 
will you and Terry pull?” 

183 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


‘'All right. I’d pull with any captain. It isn’t 
a question of captains — it’s Fairview.” 

And yet, for all that, Buddy went upstairs again 
with a new thought. What if Terry, suddenly ele- 
vated to a captain’s place and made to feel that he 
was the only hope of the school, should become 
overbearing with a sense of his importance? That 
might happen. Terry could make things mighty 
unpleasant if he wanted to rub in his authority. 

Buddy went to school next morning wondering 
what the day would bring forth. The news of what 
he had done had spread among the students. Boys 
whom he met on the way looked at him curiously 
— and a bit respectfully, though he did not know 
that. He hurried on trying to appear unconcerned. 

Terry was on the steps of the school building 
talking to an eager group. Buddy saw him and 
began to walk at a slower gait. Terry came run- 
ning down the steps, took him by the arm, and led 
him off to one side. 

‘T suppose you know they elected me?” 

“Yes. I’m glad they did. I wanted you to get 
it.” 

“You did? Why?” This was astonishing news. 

“I looked up the record of last year’s Dickinson 
184 


THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 


nine. You Oh, you could make them fight 

uphill where I couldn’t.'' 

Terry shook his head and stared at the ground. 
When he spoke again, his voice was curiously low : 

“Bud, I'm depending on you to stand by me." 

“Me?" This time it was Buddy who was sur- 
prised. 

“Yes. You will, won't you?" 

There was no doubt that Terry was sincere. 
Buddy swallowed hard and gave a quick nod. Then 
the bell rang, and he hurried toward school. One 
thing was certain, it wasn't going to be hard to 
pull with the new captain. But as for him being of 

any help Buddy smiled wistfully. An3rway, 

he’d do whatever Terry asked. 

He had to hurry to assembly, and did not see the 
new league standing until noon: 



W L 

PC. 


W L 

PC. 

Lackawanna 

7 

2 

•777 

Gates 

4 

5 

.444 

Hasbrouck . 

5 

4 

•555 

Brunswick . 

4 

5 

.444 

Bloomfield . 

5 

4 

•555 

Fairview . . 

4 

5 

•444 

Saddle Riv. 

5 

4 

•555 

Irontown . . 

4 

5 

•444 

Pompton . . 

4 

5 

•444 

Garrison . . 

3 

6 

•333 


Above the league standing was written in Terry's 
handwriting : 


i8S 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


FOLLOW A GOOD EXAMPLE AND PLAY BALL 

Buddy wondered what that meant. Surely not 
that Terry considered himself an example that the 
team should follow. He wouldn’t be the kind to 
say that. He was still considering the question 
when Mr. Ferris’s voice sounded at his elbow. 

‘‘Hello, Bud.” 

A flush ran into his cheeks. He had not seen 
the coach since last night, and he wondered if the 
man would reproach him for saying nothing of his 
intention. Surely a coach was entitled to know 
when a captain intended to resign! 

“Hello, Mr. Ferris,” he said feebly. 

The coach nodded toward the league standing. 
“Three games behind and half the season over. Not 
a good record, is it?” 

“No, sir,” said the boy. He was ashamed. It 
was the team’s record under his leadership. 

“No,” the coach said thoughtfully; “not a good 
record by any means. In fact, distinctly a bad 
record.” 

Buddy’s flush deepened. 

“You may wonder,” Mr. Ferris went on, “why I 
remained silent while the nine drifted. There was 

’ i86 


THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 


nothing else I could do. The nine could always 
play ball, but it hadn't found its spirit. It had not 
discovered Fairview. You can't pound spirit and 
vision into a squad. They must come of them- 
selves, or else be revealed by some happening — a 
something that will cause players to think that here, 
right in their school, is something wonderfully fine, 
something worthy of the best tradition. To quar- 
rel with the players would have done no good. 
I was helpless — and so were you." 

‘"Oh!" said Buddy. A load seemed lifted from 
his shoulders. 

'T did not intend to tell you this. However, I 
do not want you to be making yourself miserable 
with reproaches. This talk must go no further." 

Buddy nodded. A moment later he asked : 
“Will Terry be helpless, too?" 

“Why?" 

“Well, I — I stepped down and out, and I 
wouldn't " He paused. 

“You mean you wouldn’t want to feel that that 
action was a failure, too?" 

“Yes, sir." 

“Bud, no act of sacrifice for the common good 
is ever wholly lost." 


187 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


That last was a little too deep for the boy. 'T 
wasn’t thinking about the common good,” he said. 
‘T did it for Fairview.” 

‘'Did you?” said the coach. His voice had grown 
soft. "I wonder if you really know what you have 
done.” Then, when Buddy looked at him inquir- 
ingly, he smiled and changed the subject. 

Though he did not comprehend it all. Buddy took . 
from that talk a comfort that eased much of his 
hurt. He found it easier to enter the locker-room 
that afternoon, and go down to his place. He had 
dreaded the ordeal of facing the players after what 
he had done — had dreaded, in fact, the wise little 
smiles he thought might go from boy to boy, and 
the wise little winks. 

Instead, there were neither smiles nor winks. 
For that matter there was scarcely any talk, and 
what little there was seemed forced. All the boys 
seemed held by an embarrassed restraint. 

Terry walked down to the door where Mr. Ferris 
stood. "Come on. Bud,” he called; "we’re waiting 
for you.” 

Buddy joined them. He knew that Terry had 
done it to make him feel that everything would go 
on just as it had when he was captain. But it 

i88 


THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 

wasn’t right. As captain he had valued his inti- 
macy with the coach and had wanted no other boy 
to share it. The walks to and from the field had 
been theirs. No, Terry was entitled to the same 
privilege. Besides, as a plain member of the nine 
he did not want to be picked out for favors. 

Next day, when Terry called to him, he pretended 
that his cap was lost, nor did he find it until captain 
and coach had departed. 

In those two days he watched the practice with 
painful anxiety. Would the nine play real ball now? 
At the end of the second day he did not know. 
Sometimes he thought that everybody tried a whole 
lot harder. And against that were more errors than 
the players had ever made before. Flies were 
dropped, thrown balls were muffed, and grounders 
were fumbled outrageously. What sort of nine 
was this, anyway? 

After Friday’s practice Terry and the coach re- 
mained behind on the field. Buddy knew what 
that meant. They were deciding on the battery for 
the morrow’s game with Saddle River. For the 
first time since the season started he would not be 
consulted about who would pitch or who would 
189 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 

catch. He had known that this would come, and 
yet it brought back some of the hurt. 

He had just finished dressing when coach and 
captain entered the locker-room. 

''You and Schuyler to-morrow, Bud,'’ Terry 
called. 

His errors had lost the last Saddle River game. 
But to-morrow it would be Schuyler, and not Va- 
nelli, who would pitch to him. The second Sad- 
dle River game, he vowed grimly, would not go 
the way the first had gone — not if it lay with him. 

Up to this point, his intercourse with the other 
players had not increased in warmth. The shadow 
of restraint was still there. And so when he went 
forth to catch the Saddle River game, it was to 
work with an infield toward whom he felt none of 
that close comradeship that is so essential to team 
work. 

Schuyler's first offering was hit to Rood. The 
second-baseman fumbled, recovered in a flash and 
threw to Lewis — and Lewis dropped the ball. 

"All right, Schuyler," cried Daly. "Play the 
batter. This fellow won’t get around." 

The next boy hit a scorching liner down the 
third-base line. Daly sprang sideways, knocked 
190 


THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 

down the ball, and got the runner at first. It was 
a magnificent play. 

“Oh!” Buddy breathed; “if they only keep that 
up.” 

The next Saddle River batter tapped a puny 
grounder, and Daly let it trickle through his legs. 

That's how the game went for two agonizing 
hours — good plays and bad plays mixed in hope- 
less confusion. Saddle River, presented with chance 
after chance, scored but three runs. Fairview scored 
five. 

In spite of the victory. Buddy left the field de- 
spondent. This wasn't a clean-cut try or a clean- 
cut win. This was simply luck. The score-book 
showed eight rank errors. Eight! 

The contest had been played at Saddle River. On 
the ride back to Fairview the nine was hilariously 
merry. Had Buddy been less gloomy, he would 
have sensed that their joy was deeper than the mere 
bubble of victorious spirits. It was the joy of the 
worker in a job that had been done — bungled, per- 
haps, but done. 

A man sitting next to him left the coach. Terry 
came down and took the empty seat. 

“What do you think of it?” he asked. His voice 
191 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


was hoarse. All through the ups and downs of that 
game, from coaching-box and from the bench, he 
had urged and encouraged and made light of mis- 
cues. 

^‘All right,’’ Buddy answered evasively. The 
question embarrassed him. Terry had been se- 
lected to do what he had failed to do. How could 
he criticize? 

The captain gave him a shrewd look. “You’re 
thinking about those eight errors. Bud.” 

“I ” What was the use of fencing? Buddy 

nodded. 

“I’m not,” Terry said promptly. “Why did they 
make errors? Too eager. You didn’t see any 
slouching after the ball, did you, when it was fum- 
bled? Not much. These boys were trying every 
minute. They’re playing ball now.” 

Buddy stiffened a bit. That “now” sounded as 
though Terry was drawing a distinction between to- 
day and yesterday. But why shouldn’t he? There 
had been no slouching after the ball. And nobody 
had come in to the bench grinning and making light 
of his slips. 

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Buddy acknowledged. 
For the remainder of the ride he stared ahead with 


192 


THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 


clouded eyes. He was out of the captaincy only 
five days, and the nine was playing ball already. Of 
course, he had quit to bring that condition about. 
But it stung to find his failure so sharply defined. 

He came out of his reverie to find that the coach 
had stopped in front of the Fairview post office, 
and that the players were climbing out. His suit- 
case was stuck under the seat. Rood gave it a 
wrench, released it, and jumped down with it to 
the street. There he handed it over with a smile. 

Buddy gave a stiff bow. Rood could afford to 
smile at him now, he thought bitterly. He was no 
longer in the way. He was benched. And Rood 
could play ball, too — now. 

He saw Mr. Ferris looking at him gravely. Next 
his thoughts went back to the time when Terry had 
sent him back to say the things to O’Rourke that 
he had forgotten. Was this the way for him to act? 
Was this standing by Terry? 

“Thank you,” he said with an effort. 

“Oh, that’s all right,” said Rood. “I guess a 
catcher is more tired after a game than a fielder. 
He handles a dozen balls to our one. Going this 
way?” 


193 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 

Buddy walked with him until their paths sepa- 
rated, but didn’t say a dozen words. In the past 
Rood had been one of the worst offenders, and he 
could not find conversational topics on such short 
notice. 

He was face to face with the punishing part of 
his task. It had been, in a sense, easy to quit. The 
scene had lasted scarcely a minute, and his deter- 
mination had been fused hot by the emotions that 
had ruled him. Now came the daily strain of 
watching boys who had not played ball for him, play 
mighty good ball for Terry. A regret flashed 
through his mind again and again: “Why hadn’t 
they played ball for me ?” 

“Here!” Buddy told himself suddenly; “I must 
stop this. I knew they’d play ball for Terry.” Yet 

— yet “I must stop this,” he told himself 

again, sharply this time. 

Monday, when he came to school, Saturday’s 
results had been tabulated. Irontown had beaten 
Pompton, Lackawanna had won from Bloomfield, 
and Brunswick and Garrison had taken the meas- 
ures of Hasbrouck and Gates. The standing now 
read: 


194 


THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 


Lackawanna 

W L 

8 2 

PC. 

.800 

Hasbrouck . 

W L 

5 5 

PC. 

.500 

Bloomfield . 

5 

5 

.500 

Brunswick . 

5 5 

.500 

Fairview . . 

5 

5 

.500 

Gates 

4 6 

.400 

Saddle Riv. 

5 

5 

.500 

Garrison . . 

4 6 

.400 

Irontown . . 

5 

5 

.500 

Pompton . . 

4 6 

.400 


Quite a crowd gathered around the board that 
morning. There was more of interest than there 
had ever been before. 

“Gosh!’' said one student. “Almost all the teams 
hanging together and cutting each other’s throats, 
and Lackawanna creeping away. It’s becoming a 
one-team race.” 

“Two,” said Terry. “You’re forgetting Fair- 
view.” 

The students looked at the board in perplexity. 
“Where are we any better off than the others? 
We’re three games behind.” 

“Two,” said Terry. “We’ll beat Lackawanna 
next time. That eliminates one game of her lead.” 

“And we’ll make up those other two games,” 
said Rood. “Just watch Fairview for th^ rest of 
the season.” 

Oh, yes; the team would play ball now, but why 
should Rood emphasize that fact? Buddy turned 

195 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 

away. Suddenly last night's voice seemed to say: 
must stop this." He went back to the board. 

“That’s Fairview’s specialty," he said, “over- 
coming leads." 

“Right-0 !" said Rood. 

The call to assembly broke up the gathering. 
Terry ran his arm through Buddy’s as they went 
upstairs. 

“Did you hear that?" he demanded. “Did you 
hear Rood say to watch Fairview? It used to al- 
ways be the nine. Now it’s the school." 

Buddy was glad that he had gone back. Rood, 
of all fellows, talking proudly of Fairview! Per- 
haps what he had told them in the locker-room that 
night had accomplished something. His blood grew 
warm. 

“We’ll be in this fight, Terry," he said. As 
though by magic, his resentment was gone. Let 
the team play for Terry. Let it show up the fail- 
ure of his own leadership. But only let it play, 
play, play as befitted a team that carried the tra- 
ditions of the school. 

That afternoon’s practice was another stew of 
errors. Now, though, thanks to what Terry had 
told him, those errors sent thrill after thrill up and 
196 


THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 

down his spine. They represented something that 
was good to see — eagerness, and zest, and a wild 
ambition. Sooner or later, he knew, the nine would 
steady and would play its game. Then watch out! 

And it was good to see the way Terry took hold 
of his work. His superb energy seemed never to 
tire. Nothing on the field seemed to escape him. 
He had a way of correcting a fault that left no 
sting. He was What was it that he was? 

"‘A natural-bom leader,’" Buddy muttered. The 
words had popped into his head. He pondered 
them. No wonder Terry could succeed where he 
had failed. 

Wednesday’s game was against Brunswick. The 
squad, gathered into a noisy group in the locker- 
room, talked confidently of winning. On the same 
day, Lackawanna was to play against Saddle River. 
Nobody had any hopes that Saddle River would be 
able to stop the leaders. 

For once, what was expected to happen did hap- 
pen. Both Lackawanna and Fairview won their 
games. 

Fairview’s victory was the skimpest kind of a 
win. With Vanelli pitching at his best and Terry 
backing him up in faultless style, Brunswick should 
197 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 

never have had a chance. But another weird col- 
lection of errors made the game precarious. How- 
ever, just when danger threatened to wreck their 
hopes, the nine always tightened and held. It was 
up-and-down, ding-dong, heart-breaking baseball. 
The final score was 5 to 4. 

All during the game Buddy coached frantically 
from his old place at first-base. He felt a true 
comradeship with the players. They had a thought 
in common. There was none of the slackness of 
other days in the way they responded to his sig- 
nals. A warning cry from him, and the runners 
would come dancing back toward the bases. A sharp 
call to go on, and they would be off with the word. 
Coaching now was a joy and not a labor. 

Next day, on his way to school, he was overtaken 
by Rood and Lewis hurrying. 

‘‘Come on, Bud,” said Rood. “Let’s see how the 
league shapes up this morning.” 

Buddy hurried with them feeling thoroughly at 
home. Why, only ten days ago it had been impos- 
sible to get these same boys interested in the league 
standing. What a miracle Terry McCarthy had 
wrought. 

Terry had the results ready for them. Irontown, 
198 


THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 


Bloomfield and Pompton had also won. The new 
standing read : 



W L 

PC. 


W L 

PC. 

Lackawanna 

9 2 

.818 

Pompton . . 

5 6 

454 

Fairview . . 

6 S 

•545 

Brunswick . 

5 6 

•454 

Bloomfield . 

6 5 

•545 

Saddle Riv. 

5 6 

•454 

Irontown . . 

6 S 

•545 

Garrison . . 

4 7 

•363 

Hasbrouck . 

S 6 

•454 

Gates 

4 7 

•363 


'The trouble is/^ Rood said thoughtfully, “that 
every time we win and Lackawanna also wins, that's 
one chance less we have to gain.” 

Buddy looked at him sharply. 

Rood laughed, and winked. Buddy gave a sigh 
of relief. Then Terry laughed, too. 

“No more of that,” he said. 

“Nix!” said Rood emphatically. He punched 
Buddy in the ribs, and Buddy laughed and ran up- 
stairs to his class-room. 

“Gosh!” he said. “Terry has surely given them 
the lighting spirit.” 

Back in the main hall Terry and Rood and Lewis 
stared at the stairway up which he had disappeared. 

# “Some boy,” said Terry. 

199 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


Lewis nodded, and turned thoughtful eyes to- 
ward the score-board. 

The schedule for Saturday’s game was distinctly 
unfavorable to Fairview. The squad talked it over 
that afternoon on the way back from the practice. 
Fairview was to play Garrison, one of the tailenders, 
but Lackawanna was to play Gates, the other. Fair- 
view would probably win. Lackawanna would prob- 
ably win. Another chance to gain would be lost. 

‘‘And after Saturday only six games left,” said 
Daly. 

Several of the players shook their heads — not 
hopelessly, but with a certain hardening of jaw 
muscles. 

‘‘Just what do those six games mean?” asked a 
voice. 

“They mean,” said Terry, “that if we win the 
whole six, and if Lackawanna loses three of her six, 
we’ll be tied. The odds are all against usf* 

“Then if we should lose one of our six ” a 

voice broke in. 

“We’re not going to lose,” Terry said grimly. 
“Schuyler? Oh, there you are. You and Buddy 
Saturday.” ■* ^ 


200 


THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 


‘That game’s as good as won,” said Rood. 

Buddy's heart raced. Oh, this was the old Fair- 
view ! This was something like it — not because he 
and Schuyler were being praised, but because the 
never-say-die spirit of the school was alive again. 
He began to sing : 

“Come, lift your voices, let them ring 
To Fairview’s praise and glory; 

No stain shall darken any page 
Of Fairview’s splendid story. . . .” 

Softly they sang with him. In the stillness of the 
spring evening their voices blended with rough har- 
mony. It was good to hear. 

There was never a moment, Saturday, when the 
game was in doubt. Schuyler’s old fadeaway ball 
had never worked better. His control was at its 
best. Poor battered Garrison was beaten from the 
start. 

There wasn’t much cheering at the finish. The 
nine had expected to win. It was the six games 
ahead that concerned them all. The battle had only 
started. 

Back in the locker-room, the talk ran soberly 
in one channel. Nobody pretended that the odds 
wye not all in favor of Lackawanna. Of the next 


201 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


six games, she could afford to lose two and still 
win the pennant. And if she happened to win the 
next, and Fairview lost 

“Who does Lackawanna play next?” a voice 
asked. 

“She plays us,” said Terry. 

A murmur ran about the room. Boys pulled on 
their clothing viciously. If Lackawanna should 
win that game the fight would be over. 

“Say,” said Rood, “wouldn’t it be a joke if Gates 
surprised Lackawanna and won to-day?” 

“Stop your fooling,” called Walters. There was 
a general laugh. A moment later, though, the laugh 
had somehow petered out. 

“It would be a joke,” Walters said slowly. 

Rood, as though coming to a quick decision, 
jumped up and squirmed into his coat. “I’m going 
to telephone and see what has happened.” His 
shoes, unlaced, were sloppy on his feet, and he 
clattered noisily up the locker-room stairs. 

Those left behind talked and laughed nervously. 
By and by the laughter stopped. Nobody mentioned 
Rood’s errand, but every ear was strained to hear 
the first sound of his return. 


202 


THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 

At last his footsteps echoed overhead. He was 
walking slowly. 

'‘Shucks!” said Walters in a tone of disgust. 
"Lackawanna won.” 

Rood came down the stairs still with that same 
slowness. Within one step of the bottom his self- 
control gave way. With a yell he bounded into the 
room. 

"Gates beat them, fellows. Gates won.” 

For the next moment the locker-room was wild. 
Buddy found two boys with their arms around his 
neck. One was Daly and one was Lewis, and Daly 
was babbling something about why hadn't they be- 
gun to play ball long ago. That’s what Buddy 
thought. Why hadn’t they? Why hadn’t he quit 
sooner and given Terry his chance? 

Monday, it seemed, half the students came hurry- 
ing to school to view the league standing. Over 
Sunday, the glorious news of Lackawanna’s unex- 
pected defeat had traveled through the town. Boys 
pushed and crowded and fought for a place near 
the board. Hasbrouck had beaten Irontown, Bruns- 
wick had defeated Saddle River, and Bloomfield 
had succeeded in downing Pompton after a hard 
struggle. The standing read: 

203 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 



W L 

PC. 


W L 

PC. 

Lackawanna 

9 

3 

•750 

Brunswick . 

6 

6 

.500 

Fairview . . 

7 

5 

.583 

Pompton . . 

5 

7 

.416 

Bloomfield . 

7 

5 

.583 

Saddle Riv. 

5 

7 

.416 

Hasbrouck . 

6 

6 

.500 

Gates 

5 

7 

.416 

Irontown . . 

6 

6 

.500 

Garrison . . 

4 

8 

•333 


Terry stood in front of the board with a wide, 
happy grin on his face. ‘^Only two games behind, 
fellows,” he called. 


‘'Now for Lackawanna,” cried somebody in the 
crowd. 

The cry was taken up along the corridor. Dr. 
Minor, the principal, looked out of his office to see 
what the racket was about, smiled, and closed the 
door. The slogan was taken up out on the school 
yard. 

Buddy stole away. It wasn’t only the baseball 
squad — it was the whole school. The old spirit was 
back. 

In the class-room he came upon Mr. Ferris. The 
coach regarded him with smiling eyes. 

“What do you think of it. Bud ?” 

“Great !” he said huskily. “I knew they’d do that 
if somebody like Terry made them know the real 
Fairview.” 


204 


THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 

Mr. Ferris’s smile grew broader, and ever so 
much gentler. ‘"Yes,” he said; ‘'they had to come 
to know the real Fairview.” 

There was a crowd of students around the field 
that afternoon. Cheers greeted all the good plays. 
First Terry and then Buddy caught at the plate 
while Mr. Ferris hit to the infielders. Buddy’s 
nerves were all a-tingle with the tonic of the scene. 
Three times he snapped his old throws toward sec- 
ond base. His confidence in his ability to make 
the throws was superb. Rood took the ball at his 
knees standing directly over the bag. 

“Good boy, Bud!” came ringing cries from the 
watchers. 

Buddy laughed happily. He seemed to be on 
springs to-day. 

Terry, too, seemed to be having a glorious time. 
When he wasn’t catching, he was roaming all about 
the field. Now a shout of praise, now a warning 
call, and now a ringing challenge to recover a ball 
momentarily fumbled! He had a word for every 
player. When the work was over, he sat on the 
bench the picture of supreme confidence and happi- 
ness 


205 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


guess we'll give Lackawanna something to 
think about," Rood said with a swagger. 

“And then some," Terry agreed. 

But as the players trailed away toward the school, 
the happiness faded. Terry looked tired. Out at 
the plate Mr. Ferris was showing Buddy a method 
of tagging sliding runners who came in spikes first. 
They came toward the bench at last. Mr. Ferris 
sat down. 

“Worried?" he asked. 

Terry nodded. Buddy started to move. “Oh, 
come on. Bud," the captain called. “Don't run 
away. You don't have to clear out every time we 
begin to talk." 

Buddy came back. 

“I wish the Lackawanna game were over," Terry 
confessed frankly. “It means so much. If we 
lose, we're out of it. If we win, we have just as 
good a chance for that pennant as Lackawanna." 

“Even though she's a game ahead ?'’ Buddy asked 
in surprise. He had not intended to take part in 
the conversation, but the words slipped out un- 
bidden.. 

“Even though she's a game ahead,'' Terry said 
doggedly. “We've been chasing her all season. 

206 


THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 


It's nothing new for us to be behind. But it will be 
something new for her to find a rival snapping at 
her heels, particularly if she has just lost two in a 
row, and if one of those games has been lost to 
the team that is doing the snapping. Don't you 
see that?" 

Buddy wasn't sure whether he did or not. 

“Look here," said Terry; “let's put it another 
way. Lackawanna's been breezing along in the 
lead with nothing to worry her. She's been full 
of pep and confidence. I’ll bet that up to last Sat- 
urday she was counting that pennant as good as 
won. Suppose she gets a jar. Suppose she finds 
apother team coming with a rush. What's the an- 
swer? Her confidence is going to get a kink in its 
back. Instead of giving all her energy to looking 
ahead, part of the time she'll be looking back to 
see how Fairview is coming. That's going ter 
weaken her." 

Buddy saw it now. His eyes flamed. 

“We must beat her, Terry." 

“I'd feel better about it," said the captain, “if we 
could outline some form of campaign — some way 
to play the game. I mean something we could plan 
207 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


that would upset her, take her by surprise and break 
her nerve. You haven’t any plan, have you?” 

Buddy shook his head. ‘‘N — no.” 

‘Well, think it over. I’ve been trying so hard 
to dope out something that my brain’s getting 
twisted. Come on ; let’s go back.” 

“Keep thinking about that. Bud,” said Mr. Ferris. 

Keep thinking about it? Buddy was sure that 
he wouldn’t have a thought about anything else. 

But when he came to the field the day of the 
game, his brain was utterly fagged. He knew now 
why Terry looked so tired. 

“We’ll simply have to play baseball,” said the 
captain. “I suppose that’s the best plan, anyway.” 

The school that afternoon seemed to have gone 
wild. There was a general feeling that Fairview’s 
fortune was acutely at stake, and that a reverse now 
would be fatal. The students gathered in a clamor- 
ous, excited group. The school song broke out in 
a thunder of sound. Ever and anon cheers swept 
the field, now low and deep like an ominous growl, 
and now shrill and high like a clear bugle call to 
arms. 

It was Vanelli’s game. While Terry warmed 
him up off to one side. Buddy caught Schuyler so 
208 


THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 


that a relief pitcher would be ready if needed. 
Every chorus of the good old song sent a mist into 
his eyes. To think that only a short time ago en- 
thusiasm like this had been unknown. To think 
that a mere change of captains had brought all this 
about ! 

Lackawanna, with a leader’s arrogance, paid no 
attention to the clamor. Her fielding was fast and 
sure. A scrub pitcher went to the mound to furnish 
hitting practice, and her first hitter crashed into the 
ball and drove it far out into deep center. The 
Fairview students were singing just them. The 
song seemed to halt for a shocked second in the 
middle of a note. The Lackawanna players grinned 
and tipped their caps cockily. Mr. Ferris frowned 
and shook his head. 

Terry came in to the bench, sat down, and 
watched Lackawanna’s work. 

‘T wish we had something cooked up for these 
fellows,” he said presently. 

Buddy racked his brain again. If he could only 
think of something. But his mind was just as bar- 
ren now as it had been during the last day and a 
half. Here was a chance for him to be of service, 
209 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


and he was failing the school just as he had failed 
her all during the season. 

The game began. A Lackawanna batter went 
out to the plate with an air of confidence that was 
maddening. It was the boy who had crashed the 
ball far out to deep center. And now, on Vanelli's 
second pitch, he proceeded to hit almost to the 
same spot. Fast fielding by Meyers held him at 
third base. 

‘‘Here goes your old ball game,^’ the Lackawanna 
coachers shouted jubilantly. “Here’s where we 
settle this old pennant fight for good.” 

The next batter singled past Rood, and the first 
run was in before the game was two minutes old. 
And the next boy doubled to left field. 

Buddy squirmed as though he was in agony. A 
Lackawanna boy struck out and things for a 
moment looked better. But this was followed by 
another single, and two more runs came over the 
plate. 

Buddy, blinking his eyes rapidly and biting his 
lips, found himself edging toward a broad-shoul- 
dered form that seemed to offer some scant hope of 
encouragement. A cool, firm hand was laid on his 
knee. 


210 


THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 


“We haven^t had our chance yet/’ said Mr. Ferris. 
His eyes did not leave the field. 

Buddy drew a deep breath. He saw the batter 
steal and beat Terry’s throw by inches. It looked 
like another possible run. But the boy at bat hit 
a liner right at Rood, and Rood clutched it and 
slid into second base ahead of the runner, who was 
trying to get back to the bag. 

Buddy stood up to go out to coach. “Three runs. 
Well 

“We can overcome that,” said Mr. Ferris. 

Terry came in unbuckling his chest protector. 
“They won’t do that again,” he said with the air of 
a person who has been under a strain. “It wasn’t 
Van’s fault. He was never better. They were just 
hitting.” 

Buddy went out to the coaching box. A hard, 
up-hill fight lay ahead. Those three runs had given 
Lackawanna a greater confidence than had been hers 
at the start. She would be harder to beat now. If 
Fairview showed the least sign of being shaken, of 
being the least bit dubious about the result 

Rood hit right into the pitcher’s hands, but never- 
theless ran his heart out trying in vain to beat the 
throw. Meyers forced the left-fielder to go far 


2II 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


back to take his driving fly. Grant smashed a liner 
at the shortstop and was out by a step. Fairview 
was fighting in a way that she had never fought be- 
fore— but she was scoring no runs. 

Lackawanna was blanked in the second; so was 
Fairview. Lackawanna also failed to score in the 
third. 

“Now, fellows,^' Buddy implored from the coach- 
ing box. “A couple of hits and we'll show these 
fellows the lack in Lackawanna." 

But Daly, after fouling two, was called out on 
strikes. Terry hit an easy fly to right. It was pie 
for the fielder. He set himself, shifted stirily to 
make a fancy catch — and got the sun full in his eyes. 
When he recovered the ball, Terry had rounded 
third and was scooting for home. To catch him 
was hopeless. The fielder, crestfallen and not a bit 
airy now, threw to the second-baseman and walked 
back to his place with hanging head. 

Fairview's rooters were enjoying their first ex- 
citement of the game. Half of them were trying 
to sing, and half were trying to cheer, and the 
result was a ferocious, hilarious uproar. Fair- 
view had scored a run! Fairview had broken the 
ice ! Now watch out, you Lackawanna ! 


212 


THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 

Van came out to hit. Buddy, clapping his hands 
together, danced on one leg and howled for another 
hit. Thatcher, in the third-base box, made a mega- 
phone of his hands and almost burst his throat. 

Despite all this encouragement Van was an easy 
victim on a hit to the first-baseman. Rood lined 
fiercely to the same player. The side was out. 
The score read Lackawanna, 3; Fairview, i. 

Buddy knew that the nine would not have even 
that run had a fielder not tried to show off. The 
game was one-third over, and Fairview was two 
runs behind. The outlook wasnT any too bright. 
He sat on the bench at the start of the fourth 
inning, and held his breath, and wondered whether 
Vanelli would be able to hold the enemy in check 
long enough for Fairview to catch up. 

Van was invincible, both in that inning and in 
the inning that followed. But the Lackawanna 
pitcher was every bit as effective. Buddy, in his 
coaching box, shouted himself hoarse. Thatcher, 
across the diamond, lost his voice completely. But 
for all the vim, and the fire, and the frenzied coach- 
ing, Fairview did not as much as get a runner on 
the bases. The end of the fifth inning found her 
213 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 

still two runs behind. Terry McCarthy’s mouth 
was growing grim. This game meant so much ! 

Buddy knew now why Terry had been so eager 
for a plan of battle. Once more he racked his 

brain. If he could think of something 

One of the Lackawanna coachers, on his way to 
the first-base box, passed the Fairview bench. He 
winked, and changed his gait, and went on to the 
box with a slow, stealthy, dramatic stride as though 
he were a villain in a play about to do a dark deed. 
It was a good comedy touch, but Buddy did not 
laugh. All at once his eyes had grown thoughtful. 

He remembered plays he had seen. The orches- 
tra would be silent. All at once the violins would 
begin to play a low, tense monotone, and his heart 
would instantly begin to beat faster. He would get 
all on edge. Why? Because that violin playing, 
so low as to be scarcely heard, was the signal that 
something big was going to happen. 

Now, Fairview’s coachers had been shouting and 
shrieking and dancing ever since the start of the 
game. Her batters had run out swinging two bats 
and by their actions threatening all kinds of trouble. 
Lackawanna was used to all that. She had been 
watching it since the first inning. 

214 


THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 


But suppose the coachers were suddenly to go out 
grim and silent. Suppose the batters were to walk 
to the plate grim and silent. Would Lackawanna 
be startled? Would she fear something new, an 
unexpected attack? Would this grim silence act on 
her the way the low tense music of the violins acted 
on people who watched a play? Would it make her 
nervous, and apprehensive, and fearful of what 
might happen? 

The third Lackawanna boy was out. The Fair- 
view players came running from the field. Buddy 
squirmed down the bench toward Mr. Ferris. 

“Fve been thinking, sir — he began. 

‘T thought so,'’ the coach interrupted. ‘T was 
watching your face. Terry! Bud has a plan.” 

The whole nine gathered about him. Buddy's 
cheeks flushed. 

**We've been shouting our heads off,'' he said 
rapidly. ‘‘We've been playing a noisy game. It 
• hasn't helped a bit. Suppose we go out there now 
and don't make a sound.'' 

“What good will that do?” Rood asked. 

‘They'll wonder what's coming,” Buddy an- 
swered. “They won't know what to make of it. 
They'll be uneasy.” 


215 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


‘"Well Plainly Rood was not convinced. 

“Look here,” Buddy said. “Suppose a fellow 
gets mad and says he’s going to punch your eye 
and comes right at you. What do you do?” 

“Get ready for him, of course.” 

“Suppose he doesn’t say anything — just glares at 
you, and shuts his lips tight, and comes toward you 
slowly with his fists clenched.” 

“Why,” Rood said slowly, “I suppose you’d get 
a little shiver up and down your back wondering 
what is going to happen. Not that you’d be 
afraid,” the second-baseman added hastily, 
“but ” 

“We’ll try this,” Terry broke in. “It’s worth a 
one-inning try, anyway.” 

Lackawanna was in the field throwing the ball 
around and looking a little bit curiously at the 
group gathered at the Fairview bench. Suddenly 
they saw the two boys who had been coaching all 
through the game walk toward the coaching boxes. 
They came forth with a certain grimness, their 
bodies a bit bent at the waist. When they reached 
their stations they stood there in silence, still with 
that grim air. 

And then a boy stepped toward the plate. It was 
216 


THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 


Grant, the right-fielder. He walked slowly, with 
that same grim look. He took his place. There 
was not a sound from the coachers — not a sound 
from the bench. The Lackawanna catcher signaled 
for a curve, but for the first time that day the 
Lackawanna pitcher hesitated. He glanced ques- 
tioningly at his fielders. He wasn’t worried. He 
had this game in the hollow of his hands. But he 
thought he’d give a whole lot to know what these 
fellows were really up to. 

At last he pitched. Grant drove a terrific liner 
that went foul by inches. 

Buddy had to grip himself to keep from shouting. 
This was the best thing that could have happened. 
It made it look as though Fairview was all set to 
do something desperate. 

Ordinarily, a hit like that would have produced 
a riot of sound. Now, from the coachers, silence. 
From the bench, silence. 

It was uncanny. The Lackawanna pitcher 
looked uneasily at Grant, waiting so still and so 
threatening at the plate. He reset his cap. He- 
fumbled with his belt. And then, for the second 
time, he threw. 

His nervousness had robbed his delivery of its 
217 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


former deception. Grant drove a long double out 
to center. 

And still not a sound from the coachers; not a 
sound from the bench. And another grim figure, 
Walters this time, came out to take his turn at the 
plate. 

Lackawanna did not go to pieces, but her defense 
cracked badly. Walters sacrificed Grant to third, 
Lewis scored him with a fluky infield single, Baxter 
fouled out, and Daly poled a high fly that the left- 
fielder and the center-fielder let fall between them. 
Lewis scored the tying run. And still, not a sound 
from the coachers or from the bench. 

At that particular moment Lackawanna was 
ready to throw away the game. Terry, at the plate, 

' should have waited out the pitcher; instead, all too 
eager, he swung at the first ball, and dribbled a 
grounder. The second-baseman got it, dropped it, 
got it again, and threw him out by inches. The 
inning was over. 

Buddy could control himself no longer. With a 
shout he dashed toward the bench. It was the start- 
ing of the seventh, and Fairview was on even terms. 

"'Hold them. Van,” he cried. "‘We’ll get you 
another run. Hold them, now.” 

218 


THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 


“Watch me/’ said Van. The whole infield went 
out with him, patting his shoulders, rubbing his 
arms, begging him to keep Lackawanna away from 
the plate. When he hurled his first ball to Terry^ 
the bench saw merely a streak of white. 

“No runs for Lackawanna this inning,” said Mr. 
Ferris. He smiled down at Buddy. “That was 
mighty good strategy.” 

“It was just a chance,” Buddy said happily, “and 
it worked — that’s all.” 

True to the coach’s prediction, Lackawanna did 
not score. Terry came to the bench and looked 
questioningly at Buddy. 

“Try that stunt again?” he asked. 

Buddy shook his head. They had taken Lacka- 
wanna by surprise last time. Her players had had 
a chance to rest and talk the situation over. They 
might be keyed up to face a similar attack now. 

So Fairview returned to her own game; and the 
Lackawanna pitcher, with a grin, once more held 
them at bay. 

The eighth inning passed, and neither side scored. 
The ninth inning began. 

“Van,” said Terry, “one run’s going to count for 
a whole lot now.” 


219 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


‘They won’t get one run,” said Vanelli. He was 
master of the situation. The first boy popped a 
fly, the second struck out, and the third hit to Daly 
and was out at first. 

It was Fairview’s turn. Last half of the ninth, 
and the score 3 to 3. 

Out on the field, Lackawanna was throwing the 
ball around with a snap and a vim. She had re- 
covered from that sixth inning scare. Buddy drew 
a quick breath. Could they work that grim silence 
again? Would the fact that only one run was 
needed to tie the score unnerve Lackawanna if she 
saw Fairview’s players once more coming to the 
attack in that strange fashion? Would she be 
haunted by what had happened the last time? 

‘Terry!” he called. “Ter ” 

“Mackerel!” cried Terry; “I was waiting to hear 
that. Let’s give them another dose.” 

Buddy and Thatcher walked out toward the 
coaching boxes, slowly, silently, grimly. The 
pitcher, throwing to the catcher, saw them and 
hurled the ball three feet over the catcher’s head. 
Baxter, scowling and ominous-looking, took his 
place to hit. 

The snap and the vim went out of Lackawanna’s 


220 


THE TURNING OF THE TIDE 


fielding. Her infield, frankly concerned, gathered 
around the pitcher. After a while they ran back to 
their places. They pranced ; they scooped up hand- 
fuls of dirt and threw it about recklessly; they 
uttered shrill cries of defiance and encouragement. 
But in their actions and in their cries was a sort of 
apprehension that seemed to grow deeper as the 
seconds passed. 

The pitcher threw. 

“Ball one!’^ 

He threw again. 

“Ball two.’’ 

The shortstop ran to him, talked to him a moment, 
and ran back to his place. Once more the pitcher 
hurled the ball. This time it was right over the 
plate, the sort of ball that any batter could murder. 
And Baxter drove it over the shortstop’s head for a 
single. 

From the coachers not a sign, not the movement 
of a single muscle. They stood like statues. From 
the bench not even a whisper. But from that line 
of boys on the bench, one boy stepped out grimly — 
Daly. 

The Lackawanna pitcher seemed fascinated in 
watching him take his place. He stood there with 


221 




FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 

the ball in his hands watching, watching, watching. 
His whole infield seemed to be hypnotized. Baxter, 
bright-eyed, alert, suddenly made a dash for second. 

He was almost there before Lackawanna came 
out of her trance. The shortstop made a frantic 
run to cover the bag. The pitcher, rattled, threw 
wild. Baxter saw the ball bound to the outfield 
and kept on to third. 

And still not a cheer from the coachers; not a 
sound from the bench; and Daly waiting threaten- 
ingly at the plate. 

Buddy’s eyes were burning. His throat was hot. 
A man on third and none out. Oh, a hit now, a hit 
now 

The whole Lackawanna infield was rattled. 
Twice the pitcher nodded yes to the catcher’s sig- 
nals, and twice he changed his mind and shook his 
head no. When at last he did pitch, the ball had 
neither speed, nor curve, nor control. Daly, strik- 
ing viciously, drove the ball high and far to the out- 
field, and Baxter raced home with the run. 

Then the silence was shattered by a high-pitched, 
jubilant yell. Fairview was one game behind, 
right on the heels of the leaders. Oh, you Lacka- 
wanna, watch your step now ! 


222 


CHAPTER VIII 


ON EVEN TERMS 

N ot in years had the village field witnessed 
such a scene of celebration. The nine, 
gathered about its bench, seemed to have 
gone crazy. Players slapped each other with their 
gloves, and wrestled in an excess of high spirits. 
The score-keeper, patiently trying in the midst of 
the clamor to get his totals of put-outs and assists, 
gave up in despair when Thatcher sat down on the 
open book. Next the bench went over with a crash, 
and the score-keeper picked himself up and brushed 
himself ruefully. 

Vanelli was mobbed. The whole team tried to 
tell him what a grand game he had pitched. He 
wasn’t a bit calm now. The praise sent an ex- 
cited light into his eyes. 

‘"Shucks!” he said huskily. “Any pitcher can 
stick to his guns when he knows his team is fighting 
like sixty.” 


223 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 

The students had come running over to the bench. 
Somebody raised a cry of ^Tearn, team, team.'’ 
After that there was a whirlwind of cheering — 
cheers for Terry, cheers for Vanelli, cheers for 
every boy who had been in the game. And then the 
gathering in some way formed a square with the 
nine in the center, and away they all marched toward 
the school. 

Buddy walked along witfi Schuyler. The thrill 
of the victory was still in his veins, but his eyes had 
begun to cloud. After all, he was only a boy with 
all of a boy’s sensitive nature. He liked to feel, 
when he did something good, that that something 
did not pass unnoticed. There had been cheers for 

Terry, cheers for Van, cheers for everybody 

He looked down at the ground. 

‘T guess I don’t count for much,” he told himself 
wistfully. 

The hilarious parade ended at the doors of the 
school. The nine passed inside followed by another 
outburst of enthusiasm. Buddy listened eagerly. 
He wasn’t itching for praise, but he wanted his 
share of the celebration — just his own little bit to 
«how that he was not forgotten. Perhaps — per- 
224 



There was a whirlwind of cheering 




ON EVEN TERMS 


haps But the crowd broke up and scattered 

without once having called his name. 

The Lackawanna boys had almost finished dress- 
ing. They were a chastened lot, not a bit like the 
cocky lads who had taken the field two hours be- 
fore. As long as they remained, Fairview’s players 
kept themselves in check; but the moment Lacka- 
wanna and her grips and her bat bags disappeared 
up the locker-room stairs, the happy noise and 
clamor broke out again. 

The talk ran fast and furious. What was Lacka- 
wanna thinking about as she rode home? Did 
she still count the pennant as good as won? Wasn’t 
that some rally in the sixth? Jimmy Crickets, and 
did you see Lackawanna go to pieces in the ninth? 

Buddy, dressed, was walking toward the stairs. 
He was almost at the door when Rood gave a cry. 

‘'Say, fellows, we’re forgetting who it was 
planned to-day’s doings.” 

“Right-o !” Daly shouted. “Come back here, you 
Buddy, and be a hero.” 

Buddy came back. They told him it was the 
greatest little piece of strategy ever, and they oub 
did each other in trying to describe how it had swept 
Lackawanna off her feet. For ten minutes Buddy 
225 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


stood in their midst, and smiled, and listened to 
them sing his praises. Then, when it was all over, 
he went out. Somehow, it hadn’t bridged the gap; 
it hadn’t filled the vacant spot. He was simply an 
after thought, and all the nice things they had said 
to him were simply an anti-climax. It had come 
too late. It did not move him in the least. 

That night he fought his fight. If they had said 
only one little ‘'Good boy. Bud,” at the right time — 
just one word. That was what stung the hardest. 
They had forgotten him completely as though he 
wasn’t one of the team at all. He felt as though 
he never wanted to go out and play baseball again. 

His room grew dark as he sat there. By and by 
Bob came upstairs and paused in the hall. 

“Are you in there. Bud?” 

“Yes.” 

“How did the game go to-day?” 

“We won.” 

“Again? Good boy! Fairview’s coming into 
her own, isn’t she ?” 

“Y — yes,” said Buddy. After Bob went down 
the hall to his own room he arose and lighted the 
lamp. Fairview was coming into her own! He 
stared at the flag of Blue and White tacked to the 
226 


ON EVEN TERMS 


wall above his desk. Whether or not the players 
thought of him or gave him credit seemed of less 
importance. Fairview was coming into her own! 
That was what really counted, and he was doing 
his bit. Players might forget him, and even forget 
Terry and Van, but nobody could forget that the 
team was but a step behind first place — and fighting. 

Next morning he reached school to find the league 
standing already on the board: 


Lackawanna 

W L 

9 4 

PC. 

.692 

Hasbrouck . 

W L 

7 6 

PC 

.538 

Fairview . . 

8 

5 

.615 

Pompton . . 

6 7 

.461 

Irontown . . 

7 

6 

.538 

Saddle Riv. 

5 8 

.384 

Bloomfield . 

7 

6 

•538 

Gates 

5 8 

.384 

Brunswick . 

7 

6 

•538 

Garrison . . 

4 9 

•307 


There wasn’t much skylarking this morning. 
Yesterday’s wild outburst seemed to have left a 
reaction. Members of the nine stared at the board 
soberly. 

‘Who does Lackawanna play next?” Baxter 
asked. 

“Hasbrouck,” Terry answered. 

“And we play Bloomfield. Well, ifs an even 
227 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 

thing — we each face a team that has won 7 and 
lost 6 ” 

‘'It isn’t even,” Rood said slowly. “Lackawanna 
has lost her two and we’ve won our last three. She 
can’t lose forever; we can’t win forever. She’s 
due to win one, and we’re due to lose one.” 

This wasn’t the talk of weakness. This was the 
talk of boys who, face to face with a fight against 
odds, were taking stock of the situation. 

“There’s five games left,” said Terry. “We’ve 
got to make up our minds, fellows, that we can’t 
lose a single one of those five.” 

“We won’t,” said Rood; “not if playing the game 
is going to count.” 

The gathering broke up quietly. Later students 
surrounded the board and began to talk wildly 
about being even with Lackawanna by Saturday 
night. The nine smiled. Every player knew that 
the hardest kind of fighting lay ahead. Five games, 
and every one must be won. And even that would 
not capture the pennant if Lackawanna won all 
hers. 

Buddy and Terry went upstairs together. To- 
day the soft promise of summer lay over the land. 

228 


ON EVEN TERMS 


They stopped at a landing to look out a window at 
the country below them. 

‘‘Bud/^ said the captain, ‘Ve wouldn’t be where 
we are to-day if it wasn’t for you.” 

Buddy took this with a grain of salt. It was fine 
of Terry to say it, but the players did not believe it. 
It wouldn’t do any good for him to get sore or 
gloomy again, but facts were facts. 

“You’re the one who gets the credit,” he said. 

“What’s that?” Terry turned quickly. 

“They didn’t really begin to play ball until you 
took charge.” 

“Yes; but ” Terry paused. After a mo- 

ment he smiled faintly as though something amused 
him, and touched him, too. “Bud,” he said, “I like 
you most for the things you don’t see.” 

“You mean I’m a wooden head?” Buddy asked 
flushing. 

“I couldn’t mean that after yesterday,” said 
Terry. 

Buddy gave a quick look. Plainly Terry was 
sincere. If he felt that way why hadn’t he whis- 
pered something right after the game? The prob- 
lem was too big — too full of “ifs” and “ands.” 

229 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


Anyway, he was playing for Fairview. He had 
told himself last night that nothing else mattered. 
It was his business to forget himself and play the 
game. 

They went on up the stairs. Down in the main 
hall a thundering chorus broke out : 

“Come, lift your voices, let them ring 
To Fairview’s praise and glory . . 

That, Buddy told himself, was of more moment 
than who got credit for victories. 

At 3 o'clock the fight for a baseball pennant was 
on again. After the games they had pitched against 
Garrison and Lackawanna there was no question but 
that Vanelli and Schuyler were fit. Their offen- 
sive strength was almost perfect. The thing to do 
now was to concentrate on adding power to the 
attack. 

So Terry sent the team to the plate for a solid 
afternoon of batting practice, while substitutes 
guarded the field. O’Rourke, out on the mound, 
pitched as though everything depended on what skill 
he showed to-day. With the pennant fight as tight 
as it was now, O’Rourke knew that he would not be 
230 


ON EVEN TERMS 

called on again this season. Yet, with a smiling ac- 
ceptance of Fate, he cheerfully gave his best and 
asked no other reward than to do his share in the 
general work. 

Saturday, when Fairview faced Bloomfield, her 
batting eyes were clear and keen. The game be- 
came a rout. After the fifth inning Schuyler simply 
lobbed the ball up to the plate and depended on the 
fielders. The final score was 12 to 4. 

‘Wonder if Lackawanna did as well?^* Daly 
asked. 

The returns, Monday morning, showed that 
Lackawanna had squeezed a 2 to i from Hasbrouck. 

“She loses two games,^’ said Terry slowly, “and 
scores only two runs in the third. What does that 
look like?’’ 

It looked as though Lackawanna was slipping. 
Rood gave a wide grin. 

“Mackerel! I’ll bet our twelve runs scare her 
stiff.” 

“She’s scared worse to see us sticking right there 
at her heels,” said Buddy. 

“I guess that’s right,” said Rood. He took a 
pencil from his pocket. The score-board read: 

231 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 



W L 

PC. 


W L 

PC 

Lackawanna 

10 4 

•714 

Hasbrouck , 

7 

7 

.500 

Fairview . . 

9 5 

.642 

Brunswick . 

7 

7 

.500 

Irontown . . 

8 6 

•571 

Saddle Riv. 

6 

8 

.428 

Pompton . . 

7 7 

.500 

Gates 

5 

9 

•357 

Bloomfield . 

7 7 

.500 

Garrison . . 

4 

10 

.285 


Above the standing Rood wrote in a florid scrawl : 

Fairview, 12; Bloomfield, 4. 

And another Redskin bit the dust. 

That afternoon it rained and practice was out of 
the question. Instead of scattering to their homes, 
the players sat around the locker and studied the 
schedule. The few games that were left seemed 
weighted with a wonderful hope and a deadly fear. 

Wednesday Fairview was to meet Gates, and 
Lackawanna was to play Pompton. 

‘‘What do you think of it. Bud?” Daly asked. 

“It looks good to me,” Buddy answered. “Gates 
is almost the weakest team in the league. We ought 
to win.” 

“And how about Lackawanna?” 

“Well ” Buddy wrinkled his forehead. 

“Pompton is a fifty-fifty team. She wins half 
232 


ON EVEN TERMS 


her games. That means she has an equal chance 
of winning from Lackawanna.” 

‘‘And if Pompton wins,” said Terry, “and if we 
win, wedl have caught Lackawanna at last.” 

It was a glorious prospect. 

“If we once get our teeth into first place,” Rood 
said softly, “we won’t let go until the cows come 
home.” 

Ah ! this was the way for Fairview fellows to talk. 
The rain was still falling as Buddy left the building, 
but he did not mind the wetting in the least. He 
was changing to dry clothing when Bob came home 
from work. 

“Bob,” he said, “if you look at the clock next 
Wednesday about 4 o’clock root for Fairview, will 
you?” 

Bob laughed. “Certainly. Anything else?” 

“You might root for Pompton, too, if you think 
of it.’^ 

Bob must have been a very able long distance 
rooter, for along about 4 o’clock Wednesday Fair- 
view began to bat Gates’s pitchers without mercy. 
It was another easy win. This time the score was 
10 to 3. Vanelli was taken out in the seventh 

233 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 

inning to rest, and O’Rourke, to his great delight, 
was sent in to finish the game. 

The contest had been played at Gates. Coming 
home in the stage-coach, the squad suddenly began 
to itch to know what had happened at Pompton. 

‘^Hi there, Terry,” Daly called. ‘'Can’t we tele- 
phone when we get back to Fairview?” 

Terry looked at Mr. Ferris. At one time it had 
been the custom at the school to telephone for re- 
sults each day. The coach, though, had put a stop 
to that. Long ago he had ruled that the nine would 
have to wait until next morning for its results. It 
had made the players calmer. It had robbed the 
pennant fight of a type of feverish excitement that 
was often fatal to good baseball. Mr. Ferris had 
tried to train his boys not to worry about what other 
teams were doing. True, Rood had telephoned the 
afternoon Gates had beaten Lackawanna, but the 
act had been a sort of afterthought. 

To-day, though, was something of a special occa- 
sion. Mr. Ferris knew that at times it is wise to 
relax the iron hand, just as at times steam must be 
allowed to escape from a boiler. Perhaps it would 
be better to-day to let excitement run its course. 

“Only this once,” he cautioned. 

234 


ON EVEN TERMS 


‘‘Only this once,” the squad promised; and he 
nodded his head. 

Daly climbed forward and begged the driver to 
hurry the horse. But the driver, after giving him 
a drowsy glance, settled in his seat and allowed the 
animal to go ahead at its regular gait. Rood was 
for taking up a collection and bribing the driver to 
show a little speed. He might have done it, too, 
had not Mr. Ferris interfered. So there was 
nothing to do but wait as patiently as they could 
for the stage to rumble into Fairview. 

At last it came to a stop in front of the post 
office. There was a candy store up the street with 
a pay station telephone. Carrying suitcases and 
bat bags they made a run for the shop. 

“None of that,” called Mr. Ferris. “We can’t 
go storming into a business place like that. Terry’ll 
go in and telephone. The rest of us will wait out- 
side.” 

Terry passed into the store. The others glued 
their faces to the two big windows. 

The telephone booth was in the rear. Buddy, his 
heart thumping, saw Terry disappear from sight. 
A minute passed — two minutes. His breath clouded 
the glass. He rubbed it clear with his handkerchief 

235 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


and looked again, just in time to see Terry come 
out of the booth. 

One look at the captain’s face was enough. Lack- 
awanna had lost. Fairview was tied for the lead. 

Buddy cried out the good news. But other eyes 
had also seen and read the message in Terry’s face. 
Before the captain reached the sidewalk Fairview 
cheers were echoing in Main street, and the clerks 
who sorted the mail were looking out the rear win- 
dow of the post office to see what all the excitement 
was about. 

There was no waiting to post a full league stand- 
ing. The squad hurried to the school building. 
The front door was locked, but the janitor’s door in 
the rear was open. They crowded into the main 
corridor. Terry tacked a sign to the bulletin-board 
that carried just two lines : 



W 

L 

PC. 

Lackawanna . . . 

, . 10 

5 

.666 

Fairview 


5 

.666 


There, next morning, students coming from all 
parts of the town found it, and for a while riot 
reigned. Nobody was interested in the other teams, 
236 


ON EVEN TERMS 


and it was not until later in the day that Terry put 
up the full league standing. Brunswick, Bloomfield 
and Garrison had won from Irontown, Hasbrouck 
and Saddle River: 



W L 

PC. 


W L 

PC. 

Fairview . . 

10 

5 

.666 

Bloomfield . 

8 

7 

•533 

Lackawanna 

10 

5 

.666 

Hasbrouck . 

7 

8 

.466 

Pompton . . 

8 

7 

•533 

Saddle Riv. 

6 

9 

.400 

Irontown . . 

8 

7 

•533 

Gates 

5 

10 

•333 

Brunswick . 

8 

7 

•533 

Garrison . . 

5 

10 

•333 


There was another outburst when the full stand- 
ing was published. The nine looked on with bright 
eyes for a moment, and then hurried away to the 
field. Something that seemed impossible had been 
accomplished. Now it was up to them to hold their 
advantage. As Rood had said, they had their teeth 
in. Now it was their job to hold on. 

They were all impressed with the magnitude of 
what confronted them. They had captured the last 
six games. If they won the next three, that meant 
nine in a row. No team in the county league had 
ever built up a record of nine straight victories. 
Gathered about the bench, they looked from one to 
another. Could they do it ? 

237 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


“We must do it/* said Terry. “How about it, 
Bud?** 

“We*re a Fairview team,** said Buddy. 

They started the practice. O’Rourke tried to 
pitch to the batters. He was as wild as a night- 
mare dream. When the batters did hit the ball, 
the fielders seemed to have palsy. After fifteen 
minutes Mr. Ferris called a halt. 

“Too much tension,” he said to Terry. “They 
need a rest.** 

So the squad went back to the locker-room won- 

i*. 

dering if they had suddenly gone hopelessly wrong. 
Buddy was as much in the dark as the others. While 
the players dressed, there was a low-voiced discus- 
sion. Finally Rood walked toward the coach. 

“Mr. Ferris,** he said, “if trying will help we’d 
like to go back again and ** 

The coach smiled. “You’re on the wrong track. 
How many times can you chin the bar. Rood?” 

“Nine or ten.” 

“Why not eleven or twelve?” 

“I tire.” 

“But you can do it ten to-day, and stop and rest, 
and go back and do ten to-morrow?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

238 


ON EVEN TERMS 

^‘That’s the condition of the nine/’ said Mr. 
Ferris. ‘‘It’s been in a hard drive. It’s tired. It 
needs a rest.” 

'‘Oh!” Rood’s voice carried a note of great re- 
lief. “That’s better. Will we practice again to- 
morrow ?” 

“No. I think we’ll forget baseball until Satur- 
day. Then we’ll work out for a little while and 
prepare for the afternoon’s game. To-morrow let’s 
run over to Irontown and watch the tennis matches.” 

The squad had forgotten that Fairview had a 
tennis team in the tournament. There was an ex- 
cited babble of voices as boys planned the morrow’s 
trip. Baseball was off their minds completely — 
and that was what Mr. Ferris wanted most. 

On the way out Buddy stopped in front of the 
league standing. Fairview’s name on top! A 
great feeling of gladness swept through his veins. 
It was a bit hard to know that where he had failed 
dismally another boy had made good with exactly 
the same players. It was hard to give up, each 
day, the comradeship of the coach. But this made 
it all worth while. 

Next afternoon the team went to Irontown. The 
tournament had started in the morning, and many 

239 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRYIEW 

of the matches were over when they arrived. Fair- 
view had entered four players in the singles, and 
three of them had already been eliminated. The 
fourth player was beaten while they watched. 
‘‘Huh!” said Rood. “That’s some jolt.” 

“It’s Fairview’s first year at tennis,” said Mr. 
Ferris. “We couldn’t expect much this year. 
Next year the team will be in better shape.” 

“How did the other matches go?” Buddy asked. 
“Did you hear?” 

“Our boys played the game,” said the coach. 
“That’s everything,” said Buddy. He did not 
see Terry and Rood and Mr. Ferris exchange 
glances and smile. 

On the way home thoughts turned to baseball 
again. On the morrow Fairview was to play 
Hasbrouck and Lackawanna was to play Brunswick. 
Considering the strength of the opposition each team 
would face it was almost an even thing. 

“Wonder if Lackawanna will lose again to- 
morrow ?” Daly asked. 

“Forget it,” said Terry. “We’ll play our own 
game and let them play theirs.” 

Before even the umpire’s cry of “Play ball!” 
sounded next day there was proof that the rest had 
240 


ON EVEN TERMS 


done Fairview a world of good. The fielding was 
clean and sharp. The hitting in practice was of a 
character to make Hasbrouck show signs of iineasi- 
ness. 

And that uneasiness was well founded. For the 
same tremendous ability to drive the ball that Fair- 
view had shown of late was again in evidence to- 
day. Two runs were scored in the second, one in 
the third, and three more in the fifth. By the time 
the ninth inning arrived, Hasbrouck was five runs 
behind. In that inning Schuyler Arch cut loose 
with his fadeaway and struck out the side. It was 
an impressive performance. 

“For the love of Pete,” the Hasbrouck captain 
cried when they were all back in the gym, “what 
kept you fellows down in the ruck so long?” 

There was a moment of silence. 

“We had sand in our eyes,” said Rood. 

Buddy's heart leaped. Were they praising him? 
But none of the other players said a word. Prob- 
ably Rood meant that Terry had shown them how 
to play the game. What was that he had written 
on the bulletin board? Oh, yes; follow a good ex- 
ample and play ball. Well, the team had done it. 

Monday came, ushering in the last week of the 
241 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


season. By next Saturday night the pennant would 
be awarded. Fairview’s fight would have been won 
or lost. 

That morning came a new league standing: 
Lackawanna had won her game, this time with ease. 
She, too, had evidently found her stride again. 
The new standing read: 



W L 

PC. 


W L 

PC. 

Fairview . . 

II 

5 

.687 

Irontown . . 

8 

8 

.500 

Lackawanna 

II 

5 

.687 

Saddle Riv. 

7 

9 

•437 

Bloomfield . 

9 

7 

.562 

Hasbrouck . 

7 

9 

•437 

Pompton . . 

8 

8 

.500 

Garrison . ,. 

6 

10 

•375 

Brunswick . 

8 

8 

.500 

Gates 

5 

II 

.312 


The practice that day sparkled with good plays. 
Never, Buddy thought, had he seen a team that 
looked better. The infield killed everything that it 
could reach. The outfielders judged flies with un- 
erring sight. And Vanelli, gently pitching to Terry, 
was his old calm, placid, unhittable self. 

When the work was over. Buddy heard his name 
called. He walked over to where Terry stood with 
Mr. Ferris. 

‘‘Bud,” said the coach, “Terry and I want you at 
242 


ON EVEN TERMS 

a conference at my house to-night. Can you make 
it?’^ 

He had sidestepped Terry’s efforts to bring him 
into the intimate talks on the way to and from the 
field each day. This was different. This was the 
big conference that came in the closing days of 
every big fight. He knew what would come up — ■ 
the careful weighing of the pitchers for the next 
two games. He could be useful now, for he was a 
catcher. Handling pitchers was his line. 

“What time?” he asked. 

“Eight o’clock.” 

“I’ll come.” 

“You darned little fire-brand,” Terry said affec- 
tionately, “I thought you’d try to duck.” 

At eight o’clock he walked into Mr. Ferris’s 
library. Terry was already there. They sat 
around the solid library table and got down at once 
to the business in hand. 

“The odds,” said Mr. Ferris, “are still against 
us.” He looked at the two boys with a smile. 
“But we’re used to that, aren’t we?” 

Terry nodded. Buddy’s face was grave. 

“The next game,” the coach went on, “is an even 
thing. We play Pomp ton; Lackawanna plays 

243 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


Irontown. Both Pompton and Irontown haye won 
half their games. IPs the final game of the season 
that worries me.’’ 

Buddy reached for the schedule. 

'We play Irontown for our last game,” he said. 

"And Lackawanna plays Garrison,” said Mr. 
Ferris. "Garrison is next to last. So that while 
we’re fighting a team that’s fairly well up, Lacka- 
wanna will be fighting a team that’s been around last 
place all season.” 

"Gosh!” Buddy cried in a panic. "If we should 
lose out right at the finish ” 

"Forget it,” said Terry. 

"It’s going to be largely a matter of pitchers,” 
said Mr. Ferris. 

There was silence after that. Buddy wondered 
what could be done with the pitchers to make them 
more effective. Was that what Mr. Ferris meant? 

"Van and Schuyler have been working in rotation, 
Terry said presently. "I don’t want to break that 
arrangement. We can use Van Wednesday against 
Pompton, and shoot in you and Schuyler for the 
last game.” 

"No,” said Buddy jumping up. This wasn’t 
right at all. 


244 


ON EVEN TERMS 


“No?” Terry looked at him a moment. “Why 
not?” 

“Van’s the better pitcher. Besides, that last game 
will be a nerve game if we’re still tied with Lacka- 
wanna. I don’t mean that Schuyler can’t stand the 
gaff, but Van has no nerves.” 

There was another interval of silence. Mr. 
Ferris said nothing. 

“Schuyler worked Saturday,” Terry argued. “It 
isn’t fair to pitch him again Wednesday and pur- 
posely save the last game for Van.” 

“How about being fair to Fairview?” Buddy de- 
manded. 

At that Terry began to scratch his hear vigor- 
ously. “Say,” he said at last, “do you realize you’re 
talking yourself out of a chance to play in the big 
game?” 

“I’m talking for Fairview,” said Buddy. 

“You’re always doing that,” Terry said slowly, 
and partly surrendered. 

Fifteen minutes later they had mapped out their 
program. Van would start against Pompton and 
would pitch four or five innings. Then he would 
turn the game over to Schuyler and rest up for 
Saturday. 


245 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


‘^AIl right/’ Terry agreed; 'Sve’ll try that; but it 
doesn’t seem fair to Schuyler though.” 

“Schuyler’ll understand,” Buddy said confidently. 

They told Schuyler next day. Terry watched 
with an anxious expression in his eyes. The pitcher 
took the news with an emphatic nod of his head. 

“Good dope,” he said, “Van’s the boy to do it. 
In fact he ought to pitch both those games if he 
can stand the going.” 

“No,” said Terry; “you do your part.” 

He walked over toward the bench. What a won- 
derful thing Fairview spirit was when you came to 
know it ! 

When the work ended that day, every member of 
the squad was sure that the morrow’s game with 
Pompton would be a game of thrills. All during 
the practice students swarmed excitedly along the 
foul-lines, and twice Terry had to chase them back 
from the bench itself. The stage seemed set for 
blood-stirring action. The time was so short there 
would be no chance to retrieve mistakes, to recover 
lost ground, one bad inning, one wdld throw, one 
fumbled ball might mean all the difference between 
a pennant won and a pennant lost. 

And yet, when the morrow came, the Pompton 
246 


ON EVEN TERMS 


game became of secondary interest. The news 
spread that a meeting of the county league directors 
had been called for ii o’clock that morning, and 
that Mr. Ferris, as Fairview’s representative, was to 
attend the conference. 

Down in the locker-room the baseball players 
clamored around the coach. Would he be back in 
time for the afternoon’s game? What was the 
meeting for? Were the directors going to order 
a deciding game in case Lackawanna and Fairview 
ended the season tied ? 

“I’m in the dark,” Mr. Ferris told them. 
“Frankly, I imagine Fairview and Lackawanna 
being tied now has something to do with it. Should 
a deciding game be suggested I imagine Fairview 
will agree.” 

“You suggest it first, coach,” Daly begged, “for 
fear they’ll forget it.” 

There was a general laugh. 

“Will you be back in time for Pompton?” Terry 
asked. 

“No,” said Mr. Ferris; “I hardly think so.” 

The laughter stopped. 

“None of that,” the coach chided. “Go out there 
and play your game. When 3 o’clock comes, I want 
247 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


to be able to say to myself, T can depend on my 
boys to play the game just as though I were there/ ’’ 

'‘You can say it,’’ Buddy cried. 

"And when I step from the stage this evening,” 
the coach went on, "I want somebody to meet me 
and tell me that the nine won again.” 

"We’ll all be there to meet you,” Rood promised. 

"With the news I want?” 

"Yes, sir; with the news you want.” 

The nine kept its word. When the stage rolled 
up to the post office shortly before 6 o’clock, the 
whole squad was there. 

"We won,” Terry cried before Mr. Ferris could 
step to the ground. 

"The score was 5 to 2,” called Rood. 

"Van only gave them one run in the first five 
innings.” 

"And Schuyler gave them one run in the last 
four.” 

"And Lackawanna won, too,” came a doleful 
voice from the rear of the squad. "We telephoned 
and found out.” 

"Fine!” said Mr. Ferris. He stepped down 
among them and was silent after saying that one 
word. They suspected that something out of the 
248 


ON EVEN TERMS 


ordinary had happened. When he walked off with 
Terry, they formed in little groups and followed, 
And were not surprised when they found their steps 
leading toward the school. 

‘‘He's taking us to the locker-room," said Rood. 

But the walk led only as far as the building. Mr. 
Ferris sat on the outdoor steps. They found places 
on the lower treads. 

“Boys," he said, “the meeting left it for me to 
decide whether Fairview and Lackawanna should 
play a deciding game in case of a tie." 

“ 'Rah!" shouted Daly. They all began to cheer. 
The cheer died away. Mr. Ferris was shaking his 
head. 

“Not so fast, boys. I told them that Fairview 
would not play the game. It's for you to ^ say 
whether I did right." 

The group was silent. Somebody sighed. 

“Tell us all about it," said Terry. 

“Lackawanna was willing to play the game," Mr. 
Ferris said. “However, exarhinations are over at 
Lackawanna just as they are over here. Three of 
her strongest players have taken jobs. They start 
to work next Monday. If we played her she'd have 
to use substitutes " 


249 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


They saw it then. Faces that were glum sud- 
denly broke into smiles. 

‘‘We couldn’t take a championship that way,” 
Buddy cried. 

“Right-0 !” said Rood. 

“That’s not Fairview’s style,” Terry said 
sturdily. “Not much.” 

They were all laughing now. Three or four 
stood up as though the talk was over. 

“Wait,” said Mr. Ferris. “Saturday’s game will 
end the season. Fairview and Lackawanna will be 
playing miles apart, and yet each team will be keyed 
up to know how the other team is making out. 
We’ve arranged to take care of that.” 

“How ?” a voice asked eagerly. 

“We’ll be playing at Irontown. They’re going to 
put up another score-board. The Lackawanna score 
will be telephoned each inning. It will be posted 
right on the field. Our score will be telephoned to 
them. While we’re playing we’ll know just what 
they’re doing, and ” 

That was as much as the boys heard. They were 
on their feet shouting, and crying out questions, 
and talking excitedly all at once. 

250 


ON EVEN TERMS 


'Tt will be just like a World’s Series game,” 
ferry said with shining eyes. 

‘‘Almost,” Mr. Ferris smiled. 

“Playing our own game,” Terry went on, “and 
watching the score-board fearfully and hopefully, 
and ” His face grew serious. 

“What now ?” Rood asked. 

“Out at Lackawanna they’ll be watching the score- 
board, too,” said Terry. “If they see a couple of 
runs for Fairview go up right at the start, it’s going 
to have them on the jump. If they get the runs, 
it will have us on the jump. We’ll be miles apart 
just as Mr. Ferris said, but we’ll be playing against 
Lackawanna just as though she was out there on 
the field with us.” 


CHAPTER IX 


TWO SCORE-BOARDS 

N ext morning the school wanted to talk 
about nothing but score-boards. The let- 
ters reporting how all the league games 
had gone were waiting in the box outside Dr. 
Minor’s office. Terry took them, and pushed 
his way through the boys who immediately tried to 
detain him. 

‘‘No use posting any more league standings,” one 
student argued. “We’re only interested in Lacka- 
wanna. What do we care about any of the other 
teams?” 

Nevertheless Terry went upstairs to tabulate his 
figures. When he came down he was plainly ex- 
cited. 

“Who said it was no use to post standings?” he 
demanded. “Just look at this.” 

There was a rush to view the board : 


252 


TWO SCORE-BOARDS 


W L 

PC. 


W L 

PC. 

Fairview . . 12 

5 

•705 

Irontown . . 

8 9 

.470 

Lackawanna 12 

5 

•705 

Hasbrouck . 

8 9 

.470 

Bloomfield . 10 

7 

.588 

Saddle Riv. 

7 10 

.411 

Brunswick . 8 

9 

.470 

Garrison . . 

7 10 

.411 

Pompton . . 8 

9 

.470 

Gates 

5 12 

.294 


‘'Well, what about it?” asked a puzzled boy. 
“What’s so wonderful?” 

“Look at Garrison,” said Terry. 

“I’m looking. She’s still next to last.” 

“Oh, you mush-head !” Terry cried. “She’s won 
again. She won her last three. She’s beaten 
Saddle River and Pompton and Brunswick. She’s 
struck a winning stride, and Saturday she plays 
Lackawanna. Does that mean anything?” 

It meant a whole lot. And with that meaning, 
the two score-boards at Irontown began to hold 
greater, more thrilling possibilities. What a story 
they might tell as the sun went down next Saturday ! 
True, Lackawanna had the advantage of playing at 
home on her own field, but Garrison was no longer 
an opponent to be despised. On the season’s record 
as it now stood. Garrison was only one game weaker 
than Irontown. 


253 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


A dozen times a day Buddy found cause to rejoice 
that he had made it possible for Terry to be captain. 
Facing the crisis, Fairview was — Well, Fairview 
was Fairview. The nine went about its work 
quietly and steadily after the manner of boys who 
knew their duty and were resolved to do it. The 
school, in countless ways, showed that every bit 
of its faith and loyalty were behind the players who 
were to carry the Blue and White into battle. 

By Friday it was plain that almost every Fairview 
student planned to go to Irontown. Some would 
journey by train and some by stage. Many, who 
had only money enough to pay fare one way, de- 
cided to walk over and ride back. Still others in- 
tended to use their bicycles both to go and to return. 
One or two, whose pockets were empty but whose 
spirits were high, threatened to walk both ways — 
and meant it. 

Friday afternoon the work out was short. There 
was fifteen minutes of fielding, a gentle warm-up 
for Vanelli, and then a brief batting bee with 
Schuyler and O’Rourke doing the pitching. After 
that the squad went back to the locker-room. 

“Say,” said Rood, “suppose it rains to-morrow. 
We couldn’t play that last game.” 

254 


TWO SCORE-BOARDS 

'Why not?’^ Baxter demanded. 

'With Lackawanna shy three of her regulars?"’ 

This was 3 disturbing thought. On the way 
home Buddy kept studying the sky. The heavens 
did look gray and overcast. 

Twice that night he came outdoors and stared 
overhead. The second time he looked there was not 
a star in sight. Just before snuggling into bed he 
heard a soft sound in the trees. He ran to the 
window and leaned out, and a drop or two of 
moisture fell on his upturned face. He lay down 
sick at heart, and fell asleep at last listening miser- 
ably to the rain. 

But in the morning a wonder of nature awaited 
him. The sky was blue and fair. The sun was 
shining. All outdoors was fresh and sweet from 
its wash of rain. When he ran to the front yard 
to gather a few early flowers for the dining-room 
table, the ground was firm and springy. To-day 
would be ideal for baseball. 

At I o’clock the squad started for Irontown. The 
school had expressed a desire to do things in style 
with a special coach decorated with the school colors. 
Mr. Ferris had said no. It were better that the 

255 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


nine should try to view this as merely one of the 
eighteen games of the season. 

But it was hard for them to view this as an ordi- 
nary struggle. The stage on which they rode was 
jammed with other Fairview students. Fairview 
boys, on bicycles, rode alongside. As they neared 
Irontown they overtook clusters of those whom 
necessity compelled to walk. Each meeting was 
followed by a flurry of shouts, and cries, and high- 
pitched cheers. 

In the locker-room of the Irontown high school 
there was more excitement. The Irontown nine was 
already at the field, but Irontown students thronged 
the halls, and the stairs, and the gallery that ran 
around the locker-room itself. Their sympathies 
were plainly with Fairview. When the nine started 
for the field Irontown boys tagged along uttering 
good luck wishes. 

‘Tunny, isn’t it?” said Terry. “Those fellows 
are with us, and yet their team will fight us tooth 
and nail.” 

“It’s the game,” said Buddy. 

“Yes,” said Terry; “it’s the game and it’s fair. 
I suppose if Irontown knocks us out of a pennant 
256 


TWO SCORE-BOARDS 


to-day she’ll be thoroughly sorry. That won’t stop 
her fighting us, though.” 

“And it won’t stop us from winning,” Buddy an- 
nounced. 

Terry grinned. “Not much.” He looked back 
at the string of players. “They’re pretty calm 
about it.” 

And then they came to the field and the calmness 
was gone. Two score-boards stood out against the 
green, one alongside the other. The first read : 

123456789 

Fairview 

Irontown 

The other read : 

123456789 

Garrison 

Lackawanna 

What story would the boards tell two hours from 
now? Even Terry lost himself in thought as he 
stared. 

“Come on, fellows,” Buddy cried. “Start throw- 
ing that ball around. A little action, now.” 

Terry smiled ruefully. That was once he had 
been caught asleep. He plunged into the work of 
fielding short bunts, taking his place in a semi- 
257 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


circle of the players. The minutes passed, and soon 
it was Fairview’s turn to take the field for her prac- 
tice. Then Terry got his glove and called Vanelli, 
and the pitcher began to prepare his arm for the 
struggle. 

One of the substitutes hit to the outfielders, and 
Mr. Ferris stung the ball to the infielders. Buddy, 
at the plate, caught the infield returns. There were 
moments when the fielding was superb and brought 
frantic yells from the massed Fairview rooters. 
There were times that the ball seemed to elude the 
players as though it was possessed. Buddy, in a 
panic, wondered if this was to be another of Fair- 
view’s desperate in-and-out struggles. His worry 
unstrung him, and on a throw to second he heaved 
the ball out to the center-fielder. 

‘‘Steady 1” Mr. Ferris called in an undertone. 

“But they’re messing things up so ” Buddy 

began. 

“I know. Steady. They’ll find their stride. If 
we get past the first inning without damage the 
worry will be over.” 

If Fairview got past the first inning. Buddy felt 
something choke in his throat. 

Presently it was time to start the game. The um- 
258 


TWO SCORE-BOARDS 


pires took their places. The Irontown players, 
poised on eager feet, crouched and waited. Buddy 
sat on the bench staring straight ahead. 

‘^Coach at first. Bud,'’ Terry called. 

‘‘Oh!” Buddy had forgotten. He ran to the 

box. The Fairview students were grouped around 
him. Their song burst forth: 

‘'Come, lift your voices, let them ring 
To Fairview’s praise and glory . . 

The Irontown pitcher threw the ball. Rood 
swung and met it, and it floated away to the outfield 
for an easy catch. 

The battle was on. 

Meyers, next up, was nervously eager to hit. The 
first pitch was wide, but he swung and tipped it. 
It dribbled toward the first-baseman. The pitcher 
ran over to cover the bag. The umpire's hand 
jerked sharply upwards. 

“Out!” 

Grant came to bat. He was calm — the only calm 

boy, apparently, on the Fairview team. But he, too, 
swung at the first offering, and once more the ball 
floated to a waiting outfielder. The side had been 
retired on three pitched balls. 

259 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


Buddy came to the bench. If Fairview got past 
the first inning 

'‘Steady!’" he kept whispering without knowing 
he was talking. “Steady, now !” 

The first two balls Van pitched were strikes. Af- 
ter that the batter began to foul, and the pitcher 
began to miss the plate. When the count was three 
and two at last, he had to lay the ball right over. 

Buddy held his breath. The batter hit a sharp 
grounder to Rood. 

The second-baseman had developed into one of 
the hardest players on the team, but he had an un- 
fortunate habit of spoiling his plays when moments 
were tense. Now, while the Fairview bench writhed 
in agony, he missed the ball completely. 

“Go on!” cried the Irontown coachers. “Go on; 
go on.” 

Grant, the calm, had started forward to back up 
the play the moment the ball was hit. As Rood 
missed the chance, he went forward in a burst of 
speed. Still running, he scooped it at his shoetops. 
Rood had whirled and was guarding second-base. 

“Slide!” screamed the coachers. “Slide!” 

The runner threw himself forward spikes first. 
Grant’s throw came true. Rood caught the ball, 
260 


TWO SCORE-BOARDS 


held it this time, and brought it down with a light- 
ning thrust. The umpire ruled the runner out. 

A squeak of delight burst from Buddy’s throat. 
He heard Mr. Ferris speaking. 

“The best thing that could have happened,” the 
coach was saying. “That will give them back their 
balance. Now watch them.” 

Buddy watched, and saw Walters throw out the 
next batter. The third boy lifted a corkscrew foul 
that Daly caught after a difficult chase with his 
back to the ball. 

One of the score-boards blossomed with white 


figures: 

I 

Fairview o 

Irontown o 


Twenty-five minutes later that score-board had 
more of those silent white figures: 

I 2 3 

Fairview o o o 

Irontown o o o 

That other score-board was stark and bare. 

Thus far, not a scrap of information had come 

from Lackawanna: 

261 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


A racking tension was slowly taking possession 
of the nine. Their own game had developed into 
a bitter fight. Added to this was the worry about 
what was happening at Lackawanna. Why the 
delay? What did it mean? Were they still playing 
the first inning there with one team piling up an 
overwhelming number of runs? 

*T hope/’ Terry said grimly, ^Lackawanna’s 
having as hard a fight as we’re having.” 

“Where are the returns coming in?” Daly asked. 

“At the Irontown high school. They have fel- 
lows there to bring the score here as soon as it’s 
telephoned.” 

“Look!” cried Buddy. “Here comes a fellow 
running like mad.” 

A boy came sprinting toward the field. Cries of 
“What’s the score?” greeted him, but he kept right 
on to the score-board. The game stopped. The 
whole field watched while white figures went up on 
the second board : 

I 2 3 

Garrison o o o 

Lackawanna .... o o o 

Buddy gave a whoop. “They’re having their 
troubles, too. Come on, fellows; get into the game. 

262 


TWO SCORE-BOARDS 


Who’s up? Lewis? Hit it a mile, old man; hit it 
a mile.” 

Lewis did not hit the ball that far, but he did 
drive it far enough into left field to reach second 
base. It was Fairview’s first solid blow. The Blue 
and White sections went mad. 

This was a game in which one run might be all 
that was needed to win. Terry wisely decided to 
play for one run rather than for several. Baxter 
was sent to the plate with instructions to bunt. 

He tapped the first ball pitched, and was thrown 
out. Lewis went to third. Any sort of hit now 
would score a run. Here was Fairview’s chance. 
Hi, yi, everybody ! On your toes, now 1 

The Irontown pitcher, gathering his strength, be- 
gan to whip in the ball with terrific speed. Daly, his 
lips set tight, tried in vain to drive it out. The 
third strike, a curve, fooled him completely. He 
did not offer at it at all, and dropped his eyes mis- 
erably as the umpire ruled him out. Fairview’s 
enthusiasm slumped. 

And then it flared again. Terry, the team’s best 
batter, was up. A passionate chant arose : 

“Hit it, Terry! Hit it, Terry! Hit it, Terry!” 

263 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 

The pitcher glanced at the rooting section, turned 
up his nose, and served the ball. 

^‘Strike oneT’ 

The chant went right on : 

“Hit it, Terry! Hit it, Terry! Hit it, Terry!’’ 

Terry caught the next ball near the handle of 
his bat. It popped into the air. The chant became 
a groan, quickly to change into a cry. The Iron- 
town second-baseman was running back, and halt- 
ing, and running back again. The right-fielder was 
racing forward. One moment that ball seemed 
doomed; the next it appeared to have a chance. 

“Mine!” called the second-baseman. 

“Mine!” shouted the fielder in the same breath. 

Both boys, undecided who was to make the catch, 
paused. 

“Daniels!” the Irontown captain cried shrilly. 
“Get it, Daniels.” 

The right-fielder tried, but that pause had been 
fatal. The ball fell at his feet. Lewis was in with 
Fairview’s first run. Terry, thinking to take advan- 
tage of the confusion, tried to reach second. A 
quick throw cut him down. 

“Oh, well,” Buddy laughed, “we’ve broken the 
ice. Now let’s see if we can blank Irontown again.” 

264 


TWO SCORE-BOARDS 


They blanked her. The score-board read : 

1234 

Fairview 0001 

Irontown 0 o o o 

Just then another inning arrived from Lacka- 
wanna : 


1234 

Garrison 0000 

Lackawanna.... 0001 


Terry sighed. ‘T hope Garrison doesn’t go to 
pieces. Come on, fellows; let’s see if we can score 
again this inning.” 

They didn’t. Neither did Irontown. As the 
inning ended, another message came from Lacka- 
wanna. Nobody bothered to watch the Fairview 
score-board. That held no mysteries — i to o in the 
fifth in Fairview’s favor. All eyes were on the other 
sign. 

— a — -a — h!” cried the Fairview students in 
ecstasy as the scorer hung a i for Garrison. But 
another i also went up for Lackawanna. The board 
read : 

12345 

Garrison 00001 

Lackawanna.... o o o i i 


265 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 

The sixth inning passed, with another o for Fair- 
view and another o for Irontown. They were play- 
ing the seventh when a messenger came running 
toward the field. He had news this time, for he 
was waving his cap above his head. Buddy scur- 
ried out to meet him, forgetting all about his coach- 
ing duties. 

‘‘Two runs for Garrison,’^ he gasped. 

“How many for Lackawanna?’' Buddy de- 
manded. 

“None.” 

The news was over the field before the figures 
were posted. On the Fairview bench players 
punched each other, and hugged each other, and 
even threw themselves headlong on the coach. Back 
of the foul lines the Fairview rooters threw fits. 
One boy stepped on the wheel of his bicycle and 
broke four spokes and didn’t even bother to give 
a moment’s regret to the wreck. The Lackawanna 
score-board now read: 

123456 

Garrison 000012 

Lackawanna.... 0001 10 

“We ought to score some more runs after that,” 
Terry cried. “Right after them, fellows.” 

266 


TWO SCORE-BOARDS 


But Irontown's defense was superb. So, too, was 
Fairview’s. Another inning passed and the score- 
board read: 

1234567 

Fairview O O O I o o o 

Irontown o o o o o o o 

Fairview went to bat for her eighth inning. Out 
of the coaching lines Buddy exhorted, and on the 
bench Terry pleaded for more hitting. One run 
was so little ! But for the moment the players were 
deaf to all appeals. One thought was in every mind. 
What would be the substance of the next message 
from Lackawanna? 

At last the messenger came, waving his hat again 
with that motion that said he had news. Buddy 
did not run to meet him. He was afraid. Lacka- 
wanna may have evened things. She might even 
have forged ahead. The whole field grew silent. 

When the scorer stood up to hang the new num- 
bers, his body hid part of the board. Would he 
never step aside? It seemed that he was purposely 
taking his time. Then he jumped to the ground, 
and the result was before them : 

1234567 

Garrison o o o o i 2 2 

Lackawanna.... o o o i i o o 

267 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


One frenzied shout that seemed to grow and grow 
and grow ! This time the Fairview scorer whacked 
Mr. Ferris over the knees with his book, and Daly 
knocked off his hat. But for all Mr. Ferris seemed 
to care, they could have ripped his coat up the back. 

‘'O you Garrison!” babbled Rood. “O you Gar- 
rison !” 

“Two more runs,” cried Daly. “That about sews 
up the game.” 

“Now let’s sew up our own game,” Terry said 
hoarsely. 

The team was too excited to play ball. There 
had been two strikes on Meyers when the messenger 
arrived, and now the Irontown pitcher put over the 
third. Meyers came to the bench trying hard to 
look crestfallen, and failing badly. Grant was 
thrown out on a grounder, and Walters was out on 
a fly. Irontown’s half of the eighth began. 

The exercise of taking the field and throwing the 
ball around seemed to bring back the sanity of the 
nine. Hearts that were fluttering began to steady. 
Hands that were sweating grew dry. Eyes that 
were dai^cing once more were able to concentrate 
on one spot — the batter. 

Vanelli, calm and unruffled, took up his work. 
268 


TWO SCORE-BOARDS 


It seemed that he had never pitched better. Slowly 
and methodically he threw to Terry. The first boy 
popped to the infield, and the second hit a liner for 
which Rood did not have to move an inch. The 
third boy came to the plate. 

It was Van’s custom to let down when two were 
out and none were on the bases. He let down 
now — and the batter drove out a long two-bagger. 

The shock of that hit gave Buddy’s nerves a 
start, and he swallowed a blade of grass he had 
been chewing. While he was coughing and gagging 
there was another hit. He forgot the tickling mis- 
ery in his throat, and raised frightened eyes to the 
field. Vanelli was wringing his pitching hand, and 
Rood was racing in for a ball that lay not two 
feet from the pitcher. The Irontown runner who 
had been on second was on third, and the boy who 
had hit that ball was safe on first. The game that 
had seemed so safe a moment before was now 
trembling in the balance. 

“W — what happened?” Buddy gasped. 

Everybody tried to tell him at once. 

“He hit a liner right at Van and ” 

“Must have hit the end of his fingers and ” 

ff 


“Too hot to handle and- 
269 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


Vanelli was still wringing his hand. He walked 
down to the plate. There he and Terry examined 
the injury. Plainly the pitcher was hurt, but how 
badly those on the bench did not know. For the 
first time that season Mr. Ferris’s face showed con- 
cern. 

“Warm up, Schuyler,’' he said. 

Schuyler sprang from the bench. Buddy reached 
for a glove. 

“You stay here,” said Mr. Ferris. “Let him 
pitch to somebody else. We may need your coach- 
ing. 

We may need your coaching! Buddy grew hot, 
and then cold. Ah! but it was good to hear Mr. 
Ferris say that ! 

Van walked back to the box. The Fairview root- 
ers cheered. Terry’s brisk fingers telegraphed a 
signal. Van’s arm swung out. 

All in an instant the complexion of the game 
was changed. The ball had gone wild. The run- 
ner on third scored. The boy on first base raced 
around to third. The score was tied. 

“Why did he do that?” Buddy demanded dis- 
mally. “Why?” 

“His fingers,” said Mr. Ferris. “They were 
270 


TWO SCORE-BOARDS 

stiffened from the shock. He couldn^t control the 
ball.’’ 

Buddy looked around. ‘'Schuyler ” 

"No,” said the coach. "Van will know if he’s 
not in shape to go on. He’ll come out if he isn’t 
fit.” 

Van, after another conference with Terry, went 
back to the box. Buddy scarcely breathed. If that 
other run came in — He felt a shiver of panic. 

Van’s first ball was fouled. 

"Strike one.” 

His next was a nice cut across the outside corner. 

"Strike two.” 

Then came a ball that was almost wild. Plainly 
those fingers, while regaining their suppleness, were 
still not yet entirely normal. 

The next pitch, the whole field seemed to guess, 
would be decisive. There was not a sound as the 
ball was delivered. Then the silence changed to a 
mighty roar, for the batter had swung and missed. 
And while the cheering was at its height, another 
return came from Lackawanna. 

The Fairview board was attended to first: 

I 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 

Fairview oooioooo 

Irontown o o o o o o o I 

271 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


Then the Lackawanna result: 

12345678 

Garrison o o o o i 2 2 o 

Lackawanna 0001 looi 

‘‘Lackawanna’s fighting hard/’ Terry said un- 
easily. “They’ll get a fresh dose of courage when 
Irontown’s run is posted on their board. Who’s 
up first?” 

“Lewis,” said the scorer. 

Lewis went out to the plate, and Baxter, up next, 
began to swing two bats. It was all in vain. Fair- 
view did not get a runner on the bases. Irontown, 
in her half of the ninth, got a boy as far as first 
base, but there he remained glued to the bag and 
watched the boys who followed him at bat fall be- 
fore Vanelli’s delivery. 

There had been excitement before, but now the 
tension rose to feverish heights. The game had 
gone into extra innings. The first team to score a 
run would probably win. 

There was considerable delay when Irontown 
took the field, and further delay as Fairview pre- 
pared to go to bat. The umpires made no effort to 
hurry the players. They understood. How about 
the final inning at Lackawanna? 

272 


TWO SCORE-BOARDS 


And so, when another messenger came dashing 
toward the field, preparations for the tenth inning 
came to a complete stop. Once more the scorer^s 
body hid the board. The Fairview players jumped 
up on their bench and strained their necks trying 
to see. 

‘‘He's putting up Garrison’s score. It’s ” 

“It’s a cipher. There ! See ! Over his shoulder 
there.” 

“Lackawanna scored some runs.” 

“How many? The big snail, why doesn’t he 
hur ” 

“It’s a one,” yelled Rood. “Garrison wins 5 to 
4. Garrison wins.” 

It seemed that the cheering would never stop. 
Twice it slackened, only to take on greater strength. 
The Irontown nine seemed to catch a share of the 
general excitement. The players gathered near sec- 
ond base and talked rapidly. When they separated 
and began to throw the ball around, chance after 
chance was fumbled. 

Buddy had recovered from his first sweep of 
dizzy happiness. He was watching Irontown. The 
cheering gave place to the school song, but for once 
he was deaf to the appeal of the grand old hymn. 

273 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


His brain was on fire with a plan that had taken 
shape all in an instant. 

'Terry !” he called. "Terry! Mr. Ferris! Look 
here, fellows ; I have a plan.” 

"Go away,” Rood cried happily. "Can't you see 
we’re enjoying ourselves?” 

"But we haven’t yet beaten Irontown.” 

That gave him his hearing. Rood’s face sobered. 
They crowded around him. 

"All this noise and excitement has Irontown up- 
set,” he said. "She can’t help it. She’s been 
keyed up during the game, but now she’s letting 
down. She don’t know that either. She’s relaxed. 
It’s going to take her a while to get up on her toes 
again.” 

"How so?” Daly asked. 

"I don’t know,” Buddy answered, "but that’s 
how it happens. It’s like a fellow working hard — 
digging a garden or something. As long as he 
keeps on working he swings along, but if he sits 
down and talks a while he’s rusty when he starts 
again. The swing is gone. It comes back after 
he works a while, but it isn’t there at first.” 

"Go to it. Bud,” said Rood. "What next?” 

"Hustle our fellows out to bat. The pitcher will 

274 


TWO SCORE-BOARDS 


be off his game for a minute. Go after the first 
good ball. Start the attack before they regain their 
poise.’’ 

‘‘Into the game,” cried Terry. “You’re up, Daly. 
Go after the first good ball.” 

Daly hurried to the plate. This was the signal 
for another demonstration. The umpire’s call of 
“Play ball !” was lost in the uproar. The Irontown 
players kept glancing nervously from left to right 
and shifting their positions as though they could 
not place themselves properly. 

The umpire’s voice was drowned as he ruled on 
the first ball pitched. The second needed ho rul- 
ing. It shot away from Daly’s bat out to center- 
field, and Daly ran to first base. 

Instantly Terry was at the plate. The first ball 
was his. He hit to left field, and Daly stopped at 
second base. 

Vanelli was at the plate before the ball had been 
returned to the pitcher. The team was losing no 
time. Up and hit, up and hit. That was the sys- 
tem. Up and hit. 

He, too, struck at the first ball pitched. The 
shortstop sprang, but the ball was past him. 

275 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


“F-a-i-r-v-i-e-w !’’ came a roar from the rooters. 
Daly scored, and Terry reached third. 

“Fairview!” Mr. Ferris said softly, and looked 
out to where Buddy was dancing wildly in the coach- 
ing box. 

Three runs came in before the side was retired 
— three runs that drove the rooters frantic with joy. 
They made a rush for the bench, but Buddy headed 
them off. 

“Not yet, fellows. Irontown still has a chance.’^ 

Reluctantly they retired beyond the foul lines. 
Buddy went on to the bench. There he sat and 
watched the finish of the game. His soul was at 
peace. 

“Van could win this game now without a curve,” 
said a substitute. 

But quiet, methodical Vanelli took no chances. 
A strike, a ball — and the first boy hit and was 
thrown out. Two balls, a strike — and the next boy 
flied to Grant. Two out! 

A slow smile spread across Buddy’s face. Fair- 
view, the old, old Fairview. What an uphill fight 
she had made 1 Fairview, the bravest of the brave. 
How true that was! 

For the moment he forgot the game. A sudden 
276 


TWO SCORE-BOARDS 


shout, a shout that seemed to say that all was over, 
brought him to his feet. 

“Our pennant, Bud,’' said Mr. Ferris. 

His heart swelled. The students, unrestrained, 
were swarming about the bench trying to lift Terry 
and Van to their shoulders. Boys bumped him and 
jostled him, but he stood there unmindful of the 
crowd, looking deep into the friendly eyes of the 
coach. 

Something in those eyes was saying, “Good boy. 
Bud.” He did not want to sail under any false 
colors. 

“I never told anybody before,” he said in a voice 
that trembled, “but it was hard for a while after 
I quit as captain. I wasn’t always thinking about 
the good of the school. Sometimes I was sore, and 
sometimes I was almost sorry.” 

“I know, Bud.” 

“Oh !” That was surprising. But then, Mr. Fer- 
ris seemed always to know so much about what went 
on inside of his boys. “But it’s all right now, isn’t 
it?” Buddy asked eagerly. 

“It always was all right,” the coach said gently. 
“Always, Bud.” 

277 


CHAPTER X 


TERRY STEPS ASIDE 

1 

N OW that the game was over, the rival teams 
hobnobbed in a gay spirit of comradeship. 
Fairview players walked with Irontown 
players, and an Irontown bat boy helped to carry 
the Fairview bat bag back to the locker-room. 

‘'We had to fight you/’ the Irontown captain said 
to Terry. 'Tt wouldn’t have been fair to Lacka- 
wanna to have us go slack just because we had no 
chance for the pennant.” 

“Believe me, you gave us a good fight,” Terry 
said ruefully. 

The Irontown captain laughed. “Didn’t we ? 
Well, now that it’s over, let’s shake.” 

They shook hands impulsively. 

Fairview’s students had marched to the school in 
a solid body and had serenaded the victorious nine 
in hoarse, deep-throated song. Now the song was 
278 


TERRY STEPS ASIDE 

growing faint in the distance as the students made 
for home. 

Down in the locker-room the nine refused to stop 
its play. Water was splashed from the showers. 
Players chased each other hilariously, and slipped 
on the wet floor, and barked their shins against 
benches. Who cared for a barked shin? Hadn't 
they captured the county pennant? 

The celebration might have lasted another hour 
had not Mr. Ferris walked toward the telephone in 
the rear of the room. A warning whisper, a nod 
in the coach's direction, and quiet began to settle 
over the place. Boys tip-toed to the showers and 
turned off the water. 

‘Tairview, 500,'’ Mr. Ferris said. Then after a 
wait: ‘^Hello; Fairview Hotel? This is Mr. Fer- 
ris. I spoke to you about dinner for a party of high 

school boys Yes; that's right. Can you take 

care of us to-night? About seven-thirty? Thank 
you." 

There wasn't a sound from the boys. It was 
Rood who broke the spell by stepping forward 
slowly. 

‘Ts that dinner for us, Mr. Ferris?" 

The coach smiled. ‘‘Yes." 

^79 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 

‘‘A real dinner — oysters, and ice cream, and cakes, 
and 

“Yes; if we get there in time to eat it.” 

“Oh, we’ll get there,” cried Rood, and dove for 
his locker. Somebody demanded to know the time, 
and somebody else answered. There was a wail 
of anguish from Grant. 

“The stage leaves in five minutes, and there isn’t 
another for half an hour. Nice pickle, isn’t it?” 

“There’s a train to Fairview in twelve minutes,’^ 
an Irontown boy informed them, and Rood called 
down blessings on his head. Twelve minutes later 
they were at the station. Some of the boys had 
not combed their hair, and some had collars and 
ties stuck in their pockets, and Daly was holding 
up his trousers with his hands because he hadn’t 
had time to put on his belt — ^but they were all there 
on time. 

Buddy climbed into the nearest car and threw his 
grip into an overhead rack. Not until he sank back 
into a seat did he realize that he was tired — that he 
had been tired, in fact, for a long time. While the 
pennant fight was on he had been keyed up by the 
grip of the struggle; now that all was over, he felt 
that he simply wanted to sit back and rest, and 
280 


TERRY STEPS ASIDE 


rest, and rest. It was pleasant in the car with the 
soft afternoon sunshine streaming in through the 
windows. The fact that Fairview had won her goal 
filled him with a warm contentment. 

Schuyler shared the seat with him. But instead 
of resting comfortably, Schuyler was squirming 
about and glancing back over his shoulders. 

“You seem to be out of things,’' he said at last; 
“you and I.” 

Buddy glanced back. The other members of the 
squad had the rear of the day coach almost to them- 
selves. They were clustered about Terry and Mr. 
Ferris, standing in the aisle and leaning over seats, 
and talking in suppressed undertone. 

“Terry deserves it,’" Buddy said. “He made a 
fighting team of them.” 

“But you made it all possible,” Schuyler said 
hotly. 

Buddy smiled. “That used to bother me, too, 
Schuyler. Pm over it now. My team failed. 
Terry’s team won the pennant.” 

“O Schuyler!” Terry called. “Come down here, 
won’t you?” 

Schuyler hesitated, and ended by walking down 
the aisle and joining the group. Buddy allowed him- 
281 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


self to sink back still farther into the soft comfort 
of the cushioned seat. He had played his last game 
for Fairview, but he had no regrets. In a few weeks 
he would graduate and would enter the iron works. 
He was leaving with a clean slate. If he had hung on 

and had handicapped the team But he hadn’t. 

That was what gave him the most satisfaction. 

Schuyler came back. The hostility was gone 
from his face. ^Terry’s all right,” he said abruptly. 
The train reached Fairview, and he pulled his suit- 
case from the rack and hurried down the aisle. 

In fact, all the players hurried. When Buddy 
stepped down to the platform they had scattered 
in all directions. He looked about him perplexed 
and bewildered. Why was everybody hurrying 
away like that ? 

‘^Coming, Bud?” said Mr. Ferris, 

They walked off together. Schuyler and Daly 
disappeared up a side street, and Buddy looked after 
them for several seconds. 

^‘They’re rounding up the students,” Mr. Ferris 
explained. ‘‘While we’re at dinner we might as 
well bestow the watch fob. You haven’t forgot- 
ten that, have you — a watch fob to every successful 
Fairview captain?” 


282 


TERRY STEPS ASIDE 


Buddy had forgotten it completely. His face 
broke into a quick smile. 'This will be a big night 
for Terry, won’t it?” 

"A big night,” Mr. Ferris agreed. 

"But ” The smile changed to a thoughtful 

look. "Why wasn’t I also sent to pass the word to 
the students? Was that what you were all talking 
about in the car? But Terry was right there and 
heard it all. It isn’t a secret to him.” 

"I must go down this way,” Mr. Ferris said hur- 
riedly. "So long. Bud.” 

It was very puzzling. Buddy walked home with 
his brows knit. Mr. Ferris had almost run away 
from him. Once in the house, though, the excite- 
ment of telling Bob about Fairview’s victory drove 
all other thoughts from his head. 

"No supper for me to-night,” he ended. "Mr. 
Ferris is giving us a dinner at the Fairview Hotel. 
Terry’s going to get a watch-fob for leading the 
team to a pennant.” 

Bob gave him a quick look. His face held no sign 
of envy. 

"Go to it, Bud,” Bob said affectionately, "and 
eat your head off.” 


283 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


‘‘Going to/' said Buddy, and dashed upstairs to 
change to his best suit. 

An hour later he was at dinner with the squad. 
This, he thought, was great. A wide table with 
the whitest of table cloths, and the whitest of nap- 
kins, and the sparklingest of glasses, and the crisp- 
iest of rolls, and — and 

“Say," Rood whispered, “did you ever taste such 
soup?" 

“And the roast beef " Buddy began. 

“And the mashed potatoes " Schuyler broke 

in. 

“And here comes the ice cream," said Rood. “Oh, 
boy!" 

They ate the cream slowly. This was the end of 
the meal. By degrees excitement came into their 
eyes. Time after time Buddy saw players watching 
him, and turning their heads away quickly when 
he met their eyes. He wondered how the watch-fob 
would be presented; and he wondered, too, why 
everybody was looking in his direction. 

The dinner had been held in a big room upstairs. 
There were folding doors at one end, but the fold- 
ing doors were closed. Waiters came in and 
crumbed the table, and withdrew with ice cream 
284 


TERRY STEPS ASIDE 


plates and coffee cups and left the tables bare. A 
silence settled over the room. 

‘'Boys/’ said Mr. Ferris. 

Buddy turned in his chair to face the coach. All 
at once it dawned on him that Terry’s place was 
vacant. What was the matter? Had Terry slipped 
away sooner than face the honors that were due 
him? That would be like Terry — ^but it would spoil 
everything, too. 

"Boys,” Mr. Ferris said, "we are now about to 
honor one of our number. As you know, the Ath- 
letic Association passed a rule last fall decreeing 
that to every successful Fairview captain a watch 
fob should be voted. We are here to-night to award 
that fob because Fairview, under a leadership that 
was both a stimulus and an inspiration, threw off 
the shackles of failirre and arose to the heights of 
success. Baxter.” 

Baxter stood up. "Yes, sir.” 

"Rood!” 

"Right-o!” the second-baseman answered. 

"Please open the folding doors,” said Mr. Ferris. 

Grinning, they walked to the doors and slid them 
open. There stood the students in solid ranks, and 
Terry McCarthy was at their head. 

285 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 

Buddy swung around to Schuyler. ‘‘How can 
Terry present himself with a 

“Ssh!” said Schuyler. 

Into the dining-room came the students still with 
Terry at their head. A few feet from the table 
they stopped. Terry took another step forward. 

“As I understand it/' he said, “these watch-fobs 
are to be presented to successful Fairview cap- 
tains. Am I right?" 

“Right-0 !" shouted Rood. 

“In order to award this fob to-night," said Terry, 
“it will be necessary for us to look back at the 
season that has passed. We started with a team 
that had strength. It could hit, it could field, and 
it had the pitchers. It was a team that should have 
run away with the pennant. It was a team that 
should have won right from the start. It didn't. 
I've been looking up the records of other years. 
Up to the middle of the season, no Fairview team 
ever made a record as poor as this year's team. 
That's right, isn't it ?" 

“Right !" shouted a voice. 

“The trouble was," Terry went on, “that we were 
loafing. We weren't heart and soul in the pennant 
fight. A lot of us were new to Fairview. We 
286 


TERRY STEPS ASIDE 

hadn’t found the spirit. It didn’t seem to matter 
whether we won or not. We took things easy. 

‘'But one fellow was out there battling every day. 
He made errors ; he even lost a game. Some of u9 
began to wonder how in thunder he had ever been 
elected captain. We didn’t follow him. Many of 
us thought we were a whole lot better than he was. 
Maybe we were — as players. But he had something 
that was worth more than all our playing skill. 

“This fellow quit as captain. He didn’t quit be- 
cause he wanted to sneak out of a hard, thankless 
job. He quit because he thought the team would play 
better ball for some other captain. He quit because 
he couldn’t bear to be a millstone around the school’s 
neck. I know how he must have felt walking home 
that night. He must have been sick with failure and 
disappointment. And yet, among the fellows he left 
behind him in the locker-room that night, the 
knowledge came that Buddy Jones was the biggest 
man at Fairview.” 

Rood sprang up and began to wave his napkin. 
The whole room broke into cheers. Buddy’s cheeks 
went red, and a hot mist flashed into his eyes. It 
was fine of Terry to say that, of course — ^but he 
wished he could slip away. He looked around fur- 
287 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 


tively. Schuyler put out an arm and blocked the 
space between their chairs. 

“No, you don’t, Bud.” 

Embarrassment ran riot through every nerve in 
his body. If Terry wanted to say all these fine 
things, why hadn’t he said it when they were alone? 
Perhaps, though, Terry was afraid he might feel 
badly about the watch-fob, and wanted to give him 
a share of the honors. 

“That night in the locker-room,” Terry went 
on, “a new team came into existence. When we 
left, we knew that a school that could produce a 
captain who would do what Buddy had done was an 
all-right school. We saw Fairview then as she was, 
and were pretty much ashamed of ourselves. 
ThaMight Fairview’s team began to fight. 

“Tmfey elected me captain. The team began to 
win its games. It played great ball — ^the best ball, 
I guess, that this old county league has ever seen. 
On paper, I was the leader. When the newspapers 
printed stories they spoke about ‘Captain McCar- 
thy’s team.’ They were wrong. It was Buddy’s 
team. Buddy Jones was the real captain.” 

Another burst of cheering swept the room. 
Buddy stole a quick glance toward the speaker. 

288 


TERRY STEPS ASIDE 


Perhaps this pause meant that Terry was through. 
But no; Terry was standing there and holding 
up his hand for silence. 

‘‘Every time the team went out to play a game 
it was the memory of the fine thing that Buddy had 
done that gave every fellow the courage to keep up 
that long fight against Lackawanna. I was the cap- 
tain on paper, but Buddy was the captain in fact. 
It was his spirit that inspired us and made us the 
victorious team we are to-night. And so when 
Fairview speaks of giving a watch-fob as a token 
of appreciation to ’’ 

A yell from Rood drowned the last words. A 
great light leaped to Buddy’s eyes. He saw it now. 
They were going to give him the watch-fob. They 
were going to— He saw Terry coming right to- 
ward him, and almost unconscious of the action, he 
stood up. 

Terry had a little jewel box in his hand. Up to 
this point he had gone along smoothly, but now he 
seemed struck dumb. He and Buddy stared at each 
other. Twice Terry wet his lips and started to say 
something, and twice he failed to utter a word. 
Presently somebody giggled. 

“Little speed there,” said somebody else. 

289 


FIGHTING FOR FAIRVIEW 

**Ah, shucks r' Terry cried; ‘IVe forgotten the 
rest of it. Here’s the fob, Buddy. Every player 
thinks you ought to get it. You’re all right.” 

Buddy opened the jewel box. There lay the fob, 
a small disk of silver, and on it was traced in blue 
enamel ‘Tairview, 1918,” and his initials. 

Everybody in the room, it seemed, was cheering. 
He caught a glimpse of Mr. Ferris, cheering with 
the others and waving his napkin. Something that 
the coach had said long ago came back to him — 
that no act of sacrifice for the common good is ever 
wholly wasted. He knew what that meant now. 
iWhen you tried to do right, it always reached some- 
body. Maybe you wouldn’t always get a medal or 
have your friends cheer, but it always counted for 
something; 

Terry was still in front of him, grinning foolishly 
and blinking his eyes. Buddy’s eyes began to blink, 
too. The cheering stopped. He knew that he was 
expected to say something, but his heart was alto- 
gether too full. 

^Tellows,” he said in a shaky voice, ‘T — I 

Oh, you know how I feel about this, don’t you ?” 

‘‘Sure we do,” said Terry. 

290 


TERRY STEPS ASIDE 


*‘Right-o !” said Rood. “What’s the matter with 
Fairview?” He dug an ^bow into Schuyler’s ribs. 
“Sing,” he ordered out of the side of his mouth. 
“Start something. Buddy’ll be bawling in a min- 
ute.” 

Schuyler started the school song. In an instant 
the whole gathering was with him : 

Come, lift your voices, let them ring 
To Fairview’s praise and glory; 

No stain shall darken any page 
Of Fairview^s splendid story. 

Then here’s to her, long may she light 

The path of honor and of right. . . . 

Buddy bent his head over the fob. The path of 
honor and of right! How could a Fairview boy 
travel any other? 


THE END 



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